


the future is not what you've seen 1ver

by rathalos



Series: all plans are golden [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, pls don't read this i hate it so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathalos/pseuds/rathalos
Summary: undergoing rewrite - see second fic in series
Series: all plans are golden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939702
Comments: 169
Kudos: 319





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Takahisa, and you’ve been reincarnated into a fictional world as the younger twin of Sawada Tsunayoshi, but that’s not important right now because you’re running late for school.

“Takkun, your jacket’s inside out,” Tsuna says.

“Sh—shoot,” you say, checking the seams on your sleeves. It is. That’s embarrassing. You’re glad Tsuna doesn’t let you out of the house like this. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Tsuna says, slinging his book bag over his shoulder and tossing yours to you.

He makes for the door, opens it, and promptly trips face-first into the hallway. Tsuna thanks you when you help him up, and you hover over him like a concerned parent as he tries his best not to trip down the stairs.

His clumsiness is unnatural. It has to be. Most likely, it’s got something to do with the Ninth Vongola boss sealing Tsuna’s Flames, but regrettably, you hadn’t really paid too much attention to your source material. So now you’re kind of just sailing through the dark and screaming and generally being an angry mess, because Tsuna shouldn’t have to go down the stairs on careful and shaking legs, wearing an expression that says _I’m going to fall, I’m going to fall, I’m going to fall._

“Tsu-kun! Takkun!” your mother says cheerfully as you two show up in the dining room. “You’re running late! Hurry and eat. Your lunches are on the counter—don’t forget them!”

You hurriedly sit down in the chair and give thanks for the food. Then you shovel eggs and rice into your mouth, desperately trying not to stress about when Reborn is arriving. It’s soon. You _know_ it’s soon because you and Tsuna turned thirteen last month and you’re pretty sure things started to get messy right around then, and just thinking about that opens up an entire can of worms you don’t really want to get into.

In the beginning you used to think you could stay out of the way and eat popcorn or something while Tsuna handled all the big baddies. That would have been ideal. Minimal risk of death for you.

But, dammit, you got so attached. You love Tsuna now. He’s your big—uh, little?— brother and for all your cowardice, your fear of death, you will never be able to stand by while he’s in danger. You’ve staunchly defended him from bullies throughout most of your lifetime. He is your family and you love him so much it scares you sometimes.

The walk to school passes in a blur. Vaguely, you remember tying your shoes on, dashing out the door with Tsuna following closely behind. Mochida tries to waylay the both of you outside the front gates but you keep your head down and lose him in the throng.

You come back to yourself sometime after you’ve plopped down into your seat. You’re afforded barely a moment of reprieve before your teacher walks in and you have to stand for attendance.

When the teacher calls out, “Sawada Takahisa,” a few of the students laugh. Tsuna bristles with indignation but you loudly respond with, “Here,” so he can’t do anything rash.

 _You_ protect _him._ There’s no need for him to put himself out there to defend you. You are—were—an adult; you can handle a little bullying from a bunch of middle schoolers.

When Tsuna’s called, no one laughs, but when he accidentally knocks his chair over trying to get up, you catch sight of a couple students rolling their eyes and muttering “Dame-Tsuna” to each other.

It makes you want to hit something, or possibly break down crying.

Tsuna sits back down and the school day commences.

*

After lunch, you and Tsuna have separate P.E. classes. You hadn’t been expecting anything else but it had still stung—Nana explaining how the principal said you had to take classes with the girls because the boys were just stronger and that’s the way it has to be. It makes you so, so painfully aware you aren’t gonna have this easy. You _know_ everyone called you Chiyo-chan in elementary school, and some still do even now that you’ve come out. Everyone thinks you “want to be a boy” now—but you’re neither.

But Mama and Tsuna understand. For now, it’s good enough. It’s more people on your side than you ever used to have.

Personal issues/identity crises aside, the separated classes are the reason you don’t hear Tsuna’s ditched until you’re in English class. No one bothers to tell you; you have to eavesdrop on a pair of gossiping classmates.

You raise your hand.

“Sawada-kun?”

“May I be excused to go to the restroom?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thanks,” you say, grabbing your book bag. The teacher gives you an odd look but doesn’t comment.

As soon as the door slides shut behind you, your feet lead you home. You can’t even feel bad about it—compared to Tsuna, school ranks nearly dead-last on your List of Things That Are Important.

“Oh, Takkun,” Mama says when she catches sight of you taking your shoes off near the front door. “You, too? It’s bad enough when Tsu-kun comes home by himself. The school will call me again.”

“Sorry,” you say, not meeting her eyes. Anxiety flutters in your stomach. “Was worried about Tsu-kun. Did he tell you if something happened?”

“It’s sweet of you to always watch out for him.” She smiles, but it’s a sad thing. “He didn’t say. Just went up to his room. But I saw his math test from today. And yours from a few weeks ago.”

“ . . . Oh,” you say.

You’d tried your best to help Tsuna with the concepts for this one but you yourself had barely been able to muddle through it all, and in the end both your grades had taken a hit for it.

“Which is why I’ve hired a tutor for you two!” Nana says, doing a complete emotional one-eighty. You stare. She pulls a flyer from the pile of papers on the end table and holds it out for you to see. “Look! Doesn’t it sound great? He’s arriving today!”

_. . . leader of the next generation . . . subject doesn’t matter . . ._

Oh, god. You close your eyes and stand there, breathing what will probably turn out to be your last normal breaths. That’s good. Normal is amazing. You’re aware of Nana making a concerned noise in the back of her throat, but you tune her out. Anxiety. Anxiety who? You’re having a great time.

After you’re done staving off the panic attack that’s been persistently nagging at you all day, you take the stairs three at a time.

“Tsu-kun!” you say, bursting into the room. You meticulously scan for any signs of a well-dressed baby and find none. You sag into the doorframe in relief. “Hi.”

“O-oh, hey, Takkun,” he says, looking up from the comic he’s reading. He smiles sheepishly at you. “You ditched too?”

You sigh fondly and cross the room to sit on the bed next to him.

“Yeah, ‘cause I didn’t know why you went home,” you say. “Did something happen?”

“It was stupid,” Tsuna mutters.

“So? Tell me anyway,” you say, ruffling his hair. “I do stupid things all the time.”

“Well—okay. There was this basketball game in the gym and my team lost. And they said it’s all because of me. They kind of trashed the equipment room and said I had to clean it myself,” Tsuna explains. He sits up and rubs at his eyes. “I d-didn’t wanna. It’s not _my_ fault we lost. And I didn’t even m-make a mess. Why can’t they just be nice?”

By the end of his explanation his voice is hiccupy with tears and he’s buried his face in your shoulder. You pull him in for an awkward hug.

There’s nothing really to say in this kind of situation. It’s unfair and you know it’s unfair and Tsunayoshi knows it’s unfair, but no matter how many times you try to work it out, nothing changes. So you hold him while he cries. Your school bag is squished uncomfortably between the two of you but Tsuna doesn’t seem to care, clinging to you like a limpet and getting snot all over the sleeve of your jacket.

You know if anyone at school saw this they’d give you hell for it. Crybaby Tsuna and his no-good “sister.”

Eventually he calms down and pulls away. You hand him a tissue you’ve magically procured and he loudly blows his nose.

“Thanks, Takkun,” he says. “And . . . sorry for getting snot on you. I know I always do this—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt. “You’re my brother and I love you and I’ll always look out for you. Don’t feel ashamed for having emotions.”

You let him sit there and digest that for a bit while you work on pulling off your jacket and tossing it in the laundry hamper. After a moment of indecision you decide to change out of your uniform. You throw on a skirt and a t-shirt and flop back onto the bed.

“By the way, Mama hired a tutor,” you say, laughing when Tsuna stiffens in shock. “Apparently he’s coming today, so you might wanna wash your face before he gets here.”

“Oh! Y-yeah!” Tsuna says, jumping up like someone lit a fire under him.

He’s out the door in no time at all and a few seconds later the bathroom faucet starts up. Tsuna’s face is damp when he gets back, but at least he looks better. Maybe not entirely okay, but also not like a wreck, so it’s a win.

“So—”

The doorbell rings.

“That’s probably him,” you say, kicking your legs and decidedly not freaking out at the prospect of being thrust into life-threatening danger on the regular. “Should we go downstairs?”

“I guess,” Tsuna says nervously.

You follow him out the door and down the stairs, stopping to catch him twice when he stumbles on a step. You remember a time when Tsuna wasn’t like this. When you were little and he radiated warmth and could make little orange Flames dance along his fingertips. His eyes had been bright and clear and he never tripped over anything.

In the living room, Mama is already talking to Reborn—apparently he’s said something to convince her of his legitimacy, or she just doesn’t care that he appears to be a baby. Tsuna takes one good long second to clutch your arm and give you a look like, _Is this really happening?_ before Reborn and Mama notice you.

“Hello,” Reborn says. “I’m Reborn, the live-in home tutor.”

“He wasn’t busy, so I asked him to come early,” Mama says, smiling happily at the two of you. “He’ll need to evaluate you two to figure out what works best. Show him to your room, okay? And behave! I’ll bring snacks up in a few minutes.”

“Is it just me or is the tutor an actual baby,” Tsuna says. Mama continues smiling. Reborn stares at him with those beady black eyes. “O-okay. Well . . . our room’s up the stairs. Come on.”

As Reborn follows you into the room you share with Tsuna, you can’t help but nervously glance back at him every few seconds. Apparently Reborn’s very existence is enough to defy common sense.

As soon as Tsuna shuts the door behind the three of you, Reborn says, “I’m actually not a home tutor.”

“Huh?” you say in unison with Tsuna.

“I’m a hitman. My real job is to train Tsunayoshi to become a mafia boss,” he says, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Um. F-funny joke?” Tsuna says, in a voice a great deal higher than it usually is.

“No,” Reborn says, pulling a gun out from absolutely nowhere. You know he wouldn’t really kill Tsuna, but the sight of Reborn pointing a gun at your brother is enough to make you bristle. “Maybe I should shoot you to prove how serious I am.”

“N-n-no!” Tsuna says, scrambling backwards. “I believe you!”

“Oh, good,” Reborn says, lowering the gun. He turns to look at you. “You’re not set to inherit, but I’ll still be training you. Consider it a complimentary service.”

“Okay,” you say, wincing when your voice comes out shaky.

“Okay!?” Tsuna says, whipping around to look at you with a wide-eyed expression of disbelief. “No! I’m not joining the mafia! _You’re_ not joining the mafia!”

“You have no choice,” Reborn says. “Unless you want me to shoot you after all?”

He raises the gun again and Tsuna yelps, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine!”

“See how easy that was?” Reborn says, pocketing the gun instead of merely lowering it. “Now we can begin with the evaluation.”

Your first day of training under the world’s greatest hitman is surprisingly tame, aside from the photos of Vongola Nono’s three dead heirs Reborn shows you. Tsuna has a freakout about that for a couple minutes before you manage to calm him down.

He works through math with Tsuna and biology with you. It’s clear how unimpressed he is by your academic performance, and he occasionally ribs the both of you about your handwriting, but all in all it’s not bad. Certainly not as wild as the original story had made it out to be, but you guess there are bound to be differences between a fictional story and actual, real life.

“Okay, that’s enough for today,” Reborn says, cutting into your train of thought.

You check the clock. It’s nine in the evening.

“Finally,” Tsuna groans, slumping over the table. “Ugh, I’m tired.”

“As am I,” Reborn says, pulling a hammock out of his briefcase and stringing it up in the corner of the room near the window. “Which is why you won’t wake me up unless you want to die. You have physical conditioning tomorrow afternoon. Eat a good breakfast and lunch.”

He goes to sleep.

Tsuna looks over at you. “Is this actually my life now?”

“Our life,” you say, sighing. His lower lip trembles and you tug him close for the second hug of the day. “It’ll be okay.”

Actually, it might not be, but you can’t just say that to your scared brother.

“I don’t even know what to _do,_ ” he says, clinging to the front of your shirt dramatically.

“Have you considered asking him?” you say.

“Reborn-sensei’s scary,” Tsuna protests. “I can barely talk to him.”

“Well, do you think he’d let me ask for you?” you ask. Tsuna says nothing, and that’s an answer in itself. “Hey. The worst that could happen is you still won’t know what to do.”

“What if he kills me for being stupid?” Tsuna whisper-shouts, voice pitched high and frantic. “He has a gun, Takkun!”

“I don’t think he would kill you,” you say, slowly disentangling yourself from Tsuna and wondering how to say this. “He said you’re the last candidate. The Ninth’s sons are dead. And he came all the way from Italy to teach us.”

“Well, yeah,” Tsuna says.

“So I’m pretty sure he put in too much effort to snuff you out just like that,” you say.

“I could die anyway, later on,” Tsuna says, shivering. “He showed us their _bodies._ ”

“You could,” you say uneasily, not sure of how to comfort him. It’s messed up. It’s so fucking messed up that Reborn is here to train an actual child to take over a crime family. He’ll have to teach Tsuna—and probably you—how to kill people. Real living people. And there’s no way out. “I’m sorry. This sucks.”

“Yeah,” Tsuna says. His voice cracks.

You let him pull himself together for a couple minutes.

“Let’s just get ready for bed, huh? We can start dealing with it tomorrow,” you suggest.

Tsuna nods hesitantly and the two of you quietly get ready to sleep.

*

The next morning, what wakes you isn’t your alarm. It’s Reborn. He brings you to consciousness by jumping on your torso, up and down a few times until you’re wheezing for air, and then he goes over and does the exact same thing to Tsuna.

“Gah!” he yelps, flailing around. “Why!?”

“I just couldn’t resist,” Reborn says. “Now get ready for school. As the tenth boss of the Vongola famiglia, you’ll find that punctuality is key. If you aren’t dressed in five minutes, I will booby trap the stairs.”

The both of you launch into a frantic scramble to get dressed, to cram your books and papers into your bags and pick up the mess from last night’s study session. Evidently you don’t make it within the five-minute mark—as soon as you hit the first step of the stairs your foot snags on a tripwire and a foam ball smacks you in the face.

“The traps will become more dangerous over time,” Reborn informs you. His smile gives you chills. “I suggest you learn to avoid them.”

“ _Dangerous—_ ” Tsuna begins, but is immediately cut off when his hand brushes over a pin on the railing and he’s pelted by a wave of foam baseballs. The assault overbalances him and he tumbles down the stairs, triggering the rest of the traps during his descent.

You frown and join Tsuna at the bottom, sticking out a hand to help him up. You doubt Reborn cares enough to, and even if he did he’s really too short to be helping anyone up but a fellow Arcobaleno. Or Lambo. Or I-pin.

Right, they’ll be joining you soon. For once you’re thankful for how big the house is; before now, all it had meant was that when Nana enlisted you and Tsuna to help her clean the house, there were a couple of extra rooms to dust.

“Now clean that up,” Reborn orders.

Tsuna asks why and Reborn waxes some poetic bullshit about how a lot of his time in the mafia will be spent cleaning up his subordinates’ messes. It’s probably Reborn-speak for, “I don’t want to clean this up and I _love_ foisting work onto other people.”

You and Tsuna begrudgingly begin to clean up the aftermath of Reborn’s booby traps.

“Um, Reborn-sensei?” Tsuna asks, shoving another foam baseball into the plastic bags you’d gotten out from the kitchen. “Aside from, uh, cleaning up after other people, what exactly am I supposed to do? As a mafia boss?”

“So you have the backbone to actually ask me,” Reborn muses, as Tsuna squawks indignantly. “Mostly you’ll be stuck in a stuffy office with a bunch of paperwork. There’s the legitimate business to run, and you’ll also settle in-family conflicts. Things like that. You’ll understand more when you’re older.”

Reborn conveniently doesn’t mention anything like fraud, prostitution, and all that jazz the mafia probably also does, but you can understand why. It would definitely not endear Tsuna to the idea of becoming the Vongola boss if Reborn had also said, “By the way, you’ll probably have to place hits on people. As in, ordering people to kill them.”

“Oh. Okay,” Tsuna says, morosely scooping up some pieces of thread that had once been taut tripwires. He sounds so resigned, you nearly laugh from the sheer absurdity of it all.

The cleanup concludes after about fifteen minutes of scouring the floor for stray trap components. Next is breakfast, which you devour single-mindedly. You _love_ eating.

Nana tries to catch Tsuna for something on the way out of the house but he says, “Sorry, Mama! I gotta go!”

“Takahisa?” Reborn asks, once you’re a good twenty feet out the door. He’d decided to tag along to evaluate Namimori Middle, and while you can’t say you’re exactly thrilled about it, you can’t tell him not to come.

“Yes?” you respond. It’s probably the first thing you’ve said all morning and your voice is croaky from disuse.

“Aren’t you curious about the role you’ll play?” he asks.

“In the Vongola?” you ask, adjusting the strap of your book bag on your shoulder. “I mean, I’ll probably just help Tsu-kun, I guess.”

“Hmm,” Reborn says, and leaves it at that.

About halfway to school, you cross paths with Sasagawa Kyoko and Kurokawa Hana. Tsuna stammers out a greeting—he’s nervous because Kyoko’s about the only person who doesn’t ignore him or outright treat him like garbage.

“G-good morning, Sasagawa-san! Kurokawa-san!” he says. You hang back and fondly watch him make a fool of himself.

“Good morning, Sawada-kun, Sawada-san,” Kyoko says, smiling like an angel. She lights up a little when she spots Reborn balancing on the stone front wall of some neighbor’s yard, but Hana intervenes.

“Ugh. Kyoko-chan, come on. We’re gonna be late,” Hana says, grabbing Kyoko by the arm and taking her along. “Later, Dame-Tsuna.”

“Did you see that, Takkun?” Tsuna says, turning to you after they’ve rounded a corner. “She said good morning!”

“Yeah, I saw. She’s really nice, isn’t she?” you say, not commenting on the way Tsuna had wilted after Hana called him Dame-Tsuna. A part of you can tell she doesn’t mean it like that, and she’s only saying it out of habit and because no one’s ever told her not to. It still rankles.

“You have a crush on that girl, don’t you?” Reborn asks.

“S-Sasagawa-san? No!” Tsuna says, going slightly red in the face.

You begin to panic. It’s true he doesn’t have a crush on her this time around. Originally, Kyoko had probably been his only source of regular human interaction and it makes sense that he’d latch onto her so thoroughly. But his blushing, his stammering—those both give off the impression he’s head over heels for her, and if Reborn thinks something drastic needs to be done about it, you won’t be able to stop him.

“You’re not brave enough to confess to her,” Reborn says, as though he’s having a realization.

“No! That’s not it!” Tsuna protests. He sighs, shoulders slumping. “But even if I did like her like that, she’d never go out with a guy like me.”

You attempt to chip in, to back him up, but Reborn speaks before you can even begin to form the words you want to say.

“Oh? With a resolve as weak as that, you might as well die,” Reborn says, pulling his gun out and—oh god—you reach out and yank on Tsuna’s sleeve, trying to pull him away—Reborn shoots.

Tsuna collapses in the middle of the street.

“You just shot my brother!” you cry, voice shrill with hysteria. “Why did you shoot my brother!?”

“He’ll be fine. I shot him with the Dying Will bullet,” Reborn explains, like it’s all just supposed to make sense. But Tsuna _doesn’t love Kyoko._ He won’t be able to bring himself back like that. “As long as he’s got regrets, he’ll wake up with the intent to fix things.”

No. No. No, no, no no no no _no._

Tsuna is lying on the ground, face pressed against the sidewalk and he’s so still, and it’s been thirty seconds since he last moved, forty-five, fifty—you’re holding your breath—you don’t know how to breathe—sixty—and he wakes up. Nearly naked, yes, but he’s not dead. _He’s not dead._ You take in a shaky breath, let it out in what’s suspiciously close to a sob, and instinctively reach a hand toward him, but he can’t hear you. He probably doesn’t know you’re there. There’s a bright orange Flame roaring in the middle of his forehead and his eyes are burning with determination.

“AS IF I WERE TO DIE!” he shouts, punching the air. “ASK MAMA WHAT SHE WANTED TO TALK TO ME ABOUT THIS MORNING!”

He races off toward home and you nearly collapse in relief.

“I thought he was going to die,” you say, watching him tear down the street.

Reborn is quiet, contemplative for a few seconds. Finally, he admits, “I miscalculated.”

“I’m going to catch up with him,” you say, sniffling and picking up Tsuna’s discarded clothes.

As it turns out, Mama hadn’t had anything important to say—she’d just wanted to tell you two to stop by the grocery store on your way home to pick up some vegetables and tofu for tonight.

When the effects of the Dying Will bullet wear off, Tsuna pitches forward slightly and you have to rush to catch him.

“Hey. Hey. You good?” you ask.

“Really good,” Tsuna says, sounding breathless. “I don’t know. Everything’s so bright. I feel like myself? I . . . ”

He passes out in your arms.

*

It takes Tsuna fifteen minutes to wake up. When he does he looks energized in a way you’ve never seen him before and he feels so _warm._ You’re leaning toward him slightly as he blinks slowly, sits up. Something about him is glowing.

“My head hurts,” is the first thing he says after his eyes open. “But I feel like I could run forever.”

“The Dying Will bullet can have that effect on you,” Reborn says. You suspect it’s more to do with the Ninth’s seal finally losing its hold on Tsuna, but you don’t expect that Reborn would just up and explain this to a couple of kids. “You’ll be able to use your Flames now.”

“Flames?” Tsuna echoes, and Reborn gives you a basic run-down of the seven Flame types and their properties.

You haven’t thought all that much on what your own Flame type is—which guardian of Tsuna’s you might replace. You don’t ask how to figure out your own. You’ll need it if you want to help Tsuna in any way beyond being his emotional support but you just _can’t._ You’re still shaking slightly from the fear of seeing him motionless on the street, not knowing whether he’d get back up because Reborn hadn’t believed him, he hadn’t believed anything and the shot had been so loud, Tsuna so still, the early morning sun so bright above your head.

“Calm down,” Reborn says, smacking you lightly over the head. “He’s okay.”

“I didn’t know for sure,” you say, rubbing at the back of your head where he hit you. The surprise of getting hit, however light, does an unexpectedly good job of bringing you back to yourself. “Are you going to use it on him again?”

Reborn is silent.

“It’s okay, Takkun,” Tsuna says, reaching out for you. “I feel fine. It wasn’t like it would have actually killed me. Remember what you said?”

“Yeah,” you say, but you’re not convinced at all.

What if Tsuna doesn’t regret anything next time? What if Reborn hits him with a bullet and he doesn’t get up?

“Wait, what time is it?” Tsuna asks, looking around for the living room clock. “Oh, crap! We’re late!”

Nana’s call of, “Language!” follows the two of you out the door.

*

Over the next few days you’re hesitant to let Tsuna out of your sight. Reborn doesn’t pull a gun again, but seems to actually just tutor you. Like normal, if normal includes staying after school during the days the basketball team isn’t using the gym and running yourselves ragged. If normal includes doing your English homework on one side of the room while Reborn teaches Tsuna how to light up orange on the other.

“Stop,” Reborn says.

The Flame at the end of Tsuna’s hand sputters and dies. The room loses a little of its warmth. “What?”

“You’re not thinking,” Reborn says. You temporarily stop conjugating verbs and lend an ear to their conversation. “Using your Flames without the Dying Will bullet requires you to be in a state of total determination. It’ll get easier over time, but for now that’s the best way to get the hang of it.”

“Determination to _what,_ ” Tsuna whines.

You crack a grin and hide it by lifting your textbook to cover your face.

“What is the property of a Sky Flame?” Reborn asks.

“Haaaarmony?” Tsuna answers.

“Say it with confidence,” Reborn says, pelting an eraser at his head. “Harmony.”

“Harmony,” Tsuna says, picking the eraser off the floor and fixing it with a glare.

“What do you think that means, Tsunayoshi?” Reborn asks. Tsuna grimaces in that characteristic way he does whenever anyone calls him by his full name. “Think.”

“I feel like we’re discussing my zodiac,” Tsuna says, and yelps when Reborn sends another eraser sailing through the air. “Okay, okay, fine. Harmony. Maybe it means I work best with others?”

“That’s part of it,” Reborn says. “Keep going.”

You have to admit you really appreciate how Reborn is acting like an actual tutor instead of whatever the hell he’d been doing originally. You hope his miscalculation has forced him to get to know Tsuna as a person and figure out his goals. Maybe he’ll just revert back to the Dying Will bullets after he’s figured out what makes Tsuna tick, but at least it’ll be later and not now. The longer you can put off seeing your brother get shot, the better.

“I like to . . . protect them?” Tsuna says.

“Do you?” Reborn asks.

“I don’t know! I thought you were supposed to be the one teaching me!” Tsuna shouts, throwing his hands up.

“Historically, Sky Flames have been an enigma,” Reborn says, taking mercy on Tsuna. “Most sources say Vongola Primo and Vongola Secondo were polar opposites, personality-wise, but they both had the same type of Flame. That is to say, they were both Skies. What’s special about you is your ability to bring all the other Flames together.”

“What does that mean?” Tsuna asks.

“It means you have to find what’s best for you,” Reborn says.

“Argh! That doesn’t help me at all!” Tsuna says.

“Okay. Let me rephrase this, since you haven’t figured it out yet. What are you willing to die for?” Reborn asks. “If you needed to use every last ounce of power in your body, what would you use it to do?” 

“Ohhh,” Tsuna says softly.

He frowns. The room lapses into a heavy silence. You’d expected Tsuna to say something like, “But I don’t _want_ to die!” He’s surprised you. You don’t approve of some of Reborn’s teaching methods—not in a million billion years—but you can’t deny that occasionally, when he’s not being a complete troll, his words inspire genuine deep thought in Tsuna. And that’s something you think your brother has needed for a long time.

You’re still paying enough attention to your brother and Reborn that you notice when he nods, seemingly satisfied, and decides to leave Tsuna to his own devices in favor of checking in on you.

“You and Tsunayoshi are surprisingly proficient in English,” Reborn comments, looking over your shoulder at the worksheet you’re slogging through.

“Mama wanted us to learn another language so she enrolled us in an English class before we began to attend school,” you say. “I kept at it because you can make more money if you’re multilingual.”

Reborn hums and you take the brief moment to translate a sentence from English back into Japanese.

“That’s a good starting point, as well as a decent motivation. Money can get you far in this world,” Reborn allows. “I want you and your brother to pick up Italian as well as another language of your choice.”

“Vietnamese,” you say immediately. You’re not quite fluent yet, and years of not speaking it have probably rusted away your knowledge to the point where you might not be able to carry a coherent conversation. But it’s something from before you were you. “I like how it sounds.”

“Have you studied any?” Reborn asks.

“A little?” you say. “I dunno. It just sounded interesting.”

Oh. That’s the last question. You tuck your worksheet into your English folder and open your math textbook.

“Reborn-sensei, I need help with the probability section,” you say, pointing toward the bottom half of the page in your book.

Just as Reborn begins to explain the solution to your ages-old nemesis—the probability of pulling a whatever-colored marble out of a bag—Tsuna leaps from his bed, forehead burning with vivid orange Flames.

“I got it!” he says, bounding over to you. “I just need to—” As abruptly as they’d come, Tsuna’s Flames recede back into himself. He looks at himself for a moment, frozen, before he sits back on the floor with a look of total despair on his face. “Aw. I totally thought I had it.”

“It was a passable attempt,” Reborn says. Tsuna’s puffs up with pride, and Reborn chucks a pencil at his head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. That was only the first step. Now you need to learn to keep it up.”

“For how long?” Tsuna asks.

“As long as it takes for you to finish whatever fight you’re involved in,” Reborn says. “I’ll consider it good enough when you can keep your flames active for an hour while studying.”

“Won’t I just burn my papers?” Tsuna asks.

“Have you noticed any scorch marks on the floor?” Reborn responds. “This is not regular fire, Tsunayoshi. Your Dying Will Flame is a physical manifestation of your life force—it is what results when you tread the line between life and death.”

Tsuna doesn’t respond to that; he just picks himself off the floor and sits back down on his bed, cross-legged and clearly deep in thought.

“You really know how to handle him,” you say.

“Would I be the world’s greatest hitman if I didn’t?” Reborn asks.

“Guess not,” you say. “So—my math homework?”

“Oh. Yes,” Reborn says, and this time there are no interruptions as he walks you through your homework.

*

Later that night, as you’re getting ready for bed, Tsuna pulls you aside and whispers, “Do you want to know I could do it?”

“Huh? Sure,” you say, equally quiet. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Tsuna shakes his head. “I want to.”

“Okay.”

“When Reborn-sensei asked what I was willing to die for,” Tsuna begins, “I kind of thought—no way. I don’t wanna _die._ But I thought about it and—you know, if you or Mama were ever in danger and I could do something, I wouldn’t—I don’t think I would even hesitate. If I’m a Sky, I guess that means I need to protect people. Or bring them together. I don’t think there’s anyone I want to protect more than you and Mama.”

The longer he goes on the wetter your eyes become, until he pauses for breath at one point and you tug him toward you and cry into his shoulder.

“You know I would kill you if you ever actually tried to die for me,” you say, voice thick with tears. You take a hiccuping breath while Tsuna laughs shakily. “I love you so much. You’re the best brother in the entire world.”

“W-well, I just wanted to tell you,” Tsuna says. He’s trying to play it cool but you can hear the tremor in his voice. “In case Reborn-sensei wants you to do the whole F-Flame thing, too.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” you say, detaching yourself from him and wiping at your eyes. “But we don’t know if I’m a Sky.”

“Why not?” Tsuna asks. “Reborn-sensei said everyone else in our family is.”

“That’s true,” you say consideringly. “But hey—don’t worry about it. We’ll get there when we get there.”

It’s sweet of Tsuna to try to help you along, but to be honest, you already know what your determination is.

It’s him, and to a slightly lesser degree, Nana. It blows you away sometimes, how much love you have for the both of them. You would die for your family, and you would probably kill for them too. You think you might even be living for them.

Before you became Sawada Takahisa, you had a horrible relationship with your siblings and mother—and maybe horrible is even an understatement. You’d come out of that house heavily damaged and unsure of how to form a loving relationship with _anyone_.

Now that you actually have the chance to live in a world where your family loves you—and you them—you would never give it up. Not for _anything._ You would never forgive yourself if you didn’t do the absolute most for them. Your resolution won’t change no matter what kind of Flames you end up with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what, and i cannot stress this enough, _the fuck._ this is literally the fastest i have written a chapter ever. i don't know if there will ever be another update like this one. and you know what it is? it's pure hyperfixation, babeeeyyyyy!!!!
> 
> honestly i feel like this chapter is a trainwreck though. super self indulgent because i was like you know what hayato needs? some GODDAMN hugs. and then everything kind of devolved from there. this fic is kind of just cramming everything i wanted to see into khr so like... quality? don't know her. i am looking away!
> 
> CW: transphobia. if you'd like to skip over this part, it begins with the line, _The day passes without incident until lunch, during which Mochida attempts to bully Tsuna into apologizing for talking to Kyoko before school._ and ends with the line, _Tsuna leaps for him before he can say any more, letting out a wordless, ragged yell as he collides with Mochida and knocks the two of them down._

A few weeks after Reborn first invades your life, he tells Tsuna, “Tsunayoshi. An acquaintance of mine is flying in from Italy and will be here tomorrow. His name is Gokudera Hayato—he’s going to test you. This is a good chance to apply what you’ve learned.”

Tsuna is surprised, but you had seen this coming. The only part you hadn’t expected is that it’d taken this long for Reborn to call Hayato in. You guess it makes sense; if Reborn has to rebuild his mental image of Tsuna from the ground up, it stands to follow that he’ll take some extra time and caution to make sure Tsuna can handle the encounter.

“I’m gonna _fight_ him?” Tsuna squeaks, narrowly dodging the basketball Reborn tosses at him. You and your brother are doing balance exercises today—or, rather, falling exercises. Reborn is teaching Tsuna to minimize the damage he takes when he stumbles and falls. “I can’t fight anyone! I’m not ready for that!”

Tsuna’s doing better. He’s still clumsy but he’s improving by leaps and bounds, most likely an effect of the Ninth’s seal coming off due to Reborn’s Dying Will bullet. One day he will be able to walk up and down stairs without clutching the railing so hard his knuckles are white. The more he uses his Dying Will flames, the more of his balance and coordination he regains. You hope he is wearing the seal away, breaking it down bit by bit by bit until it can never stifle him again.

“You are,” Reborn says.

The quiet confidence with which he delivers this statement shakes Tsuna. He climbs down from the balance beam he had been perched on.

“Okay,” he agrees, although he still looks doubtful. “How does Gokudera-san fight? What should I do to beat him?”

Reborn gives him a flat stare. “If I told you how to beat him, that would defeat the purpose. You’re lucky I gave you a warning at all—most real attacks come as a complete surprise.”

“Gee, thanks,” Tsuna mutters under his breath. He’s awarded a basketball to the arm for his trouble.

“Takahisa, don’t think I haven’t noticed you slacking,” Reborn says, turning his head slightly to look at you.

Faster than you can follow with your eyes, he chucks a soccer ball at your face. In dodging, you accidentally lean way too far to the left and take a hard fall onto the mats you’d spread out earlier. You tuck your arms up beside your head and attempt to roll it out, but you’re not as practiced as you want to be and you end up landing on the bruise you had acquired yesterday during P.E.

You let out a hiss of breath. Your teeth are clamped together so tight your jaw aches but you can only take deep breaths as you wait for the pain to subside. After your vision stops swimming you force your jaw to unclench little by little, and you pick yourself up.

“You almost had it,” Reborn says. “But you’re too tense, and it’s slowing down your movements.” He snaps back around to look at Tsuna. “When did I say you could take a break? Get back up there.”

Tsuna ‘eep!’s and clambers back up onto the balance beam.

“I’ll give you a small hint,” Reborn acquiesces. “You’ll come to value the importance of dodging by the end of tomorrow.”

Tsuna adopts an expression on his face that says, _Oh god. I’m dead. I’m absolutely deceased._

“Why don’t you make Takkun fight, too?” he complains, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a basketball that flies toward his head. “I bet they’d be better at it than I am.”

Reborn’s eyes light up.

Tsuna has just made a grave mistake.

“That’s not a bad idea, Tsunayoshi,” Reborn says. “Maybe they’ll need a bit more preparation to compensate for their lack of Flames, but it’s not a bad idea at all. Excuse me. I have a call to make.”

Reborn leaves Leon behind to supervise you and Tsunayoshi and steps out of the gym, closing the door behind himself. You spare a second to wonder just how he manages it, since you’re reasonably sure the handle should be out of reach, but in the end you decide it’s best not to get stuck on the logistics of an Arcobaleno’s existence. It just works. _Somehow._

“What have you _done,_ ” you hiss, the moment you think Reborn’s out of earshot.

“I don’t know!” Tsuna says. “I panicked, okay!?”

“You _panicked_ ,” you say, pacing back and forth on the balance beam. “You know what—whatever. It’s fine. He wouldn’t put me in any actual danger, right?”

He definitely would, if only for his own personal amusement, and your first instinct is fear. It crashes into you like a tidal wave, heavy and unforgiving, but the part of you who would do anything for their family rears up to fight it off. If you don’t have battle experience, you can’t protect Tsuna and Mama. If you can’t protect your family, they die. If they die, you have nothing.

You’re still afraid of getting hurt. God, you’re afraid. But you can’t let it stop you.

“O-of course he wouldn’t!” Tsuna says, quickly jumping at the chance to reassure you. He doesn’t sound like he believes his own words, but he manages to make you feel a little better all the same. “It’ll be fine! And he said he had to train you more, right?”

“He did,” you agree. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. What about you?”

Tsuna laughs in a way that clearly conveys how he’s feeling about the matchup. “I can’t even throw a punch with my Flames. What makes you think I have a chance against one of Reborn’s buddies?”

“He said you could handle it,” you remind him.

“What if he’s wrong?” Tsuna asks desperately. “He’s overestimating me.”

“Don’t let him hear you saying that,” you say. “I think you should trust him. I know you’re nervous, but I think it’ll be okay.”

Originally, he’d won because Reborn had shot him with a Dying Will bullet and he’d managed to render every single stick of dynamite useless, one by one, by pinching the ends of the fuses to put them out. That probably won’t happen now, but on the flipside, Tsuna’s had more practice and he can really use his Flames this time. It’ll be okay. It has to be. Reborn had placed his faith in Tsuna.

By the time Reborn re-enters the gymnasium, you and Tsuna have both calmed down somewhat—though you can’t stop the occasional anxious jitter that runs down your spine—and are practicing falling again. It’s awkward to consciously make yourself fall, but Reborn had insisted.

“I’ve called in a favor from someone I knew,” Reborn says. “Her name would give away her fighting style, so I’ll refrain from saying it—but I don’t think you’ll have any trouble surviving.”

At least you don’t have to win—anyone Reborn knows is probably kilometers above your power level, besides Hayato, maybe.

You sigh in relief, and that distracts you from the soccer ball Reborn chucks at you.

*

Your homeroom teacher begins the next day of school by introducing a transfer student. It’s Hayato, and this time instead of trying to shove Tsuna’s chair over, his eyes flicker only briefly toward Tsuna and he takes a seat near the front of the classroom.

The day passes without incident until lunch, during which Mochida attempts to bully Tsuna into apologizing for talking to Kyoko before school. At some point during his long-winded rant he catches sight of you glaring holes into the side of the skull and snaps, “What’re _you_ looking at, Chiyo-chan?”

You don’t flinch but it’s a near thing. “That’s not my name, and you’re not my friend.”

“Yeah!” Tsuna echoes, trying to sound brave even though his shoulders are hunched to his ears and he looks like he’s about to cry. “Their name is Takahisa!”

Mochida keeps on talking. “Really? I can’t imagine rejecting the name my mother gave me.” He gives you a grin that sends shivers up your spine. “You’re such a cute girl, you know?”

You suck in a breath and Tsuna goes still. Mochida does this at least once a month but there’s something different in his expression today, an awful sort of delight that tugs on the corners of his grin and makes you feel sick inside.

You’re not a girl. You’re _not._

_Stop. Stop. Stop._

“Almost as pretty as Kyoko-chan. If only you didn’t wear the boys’ uniform. Are you hiding something? Are you insecure? Are you pretending you’re something you’re not?” Mochida says. “You don’t have to—”

Tsuna leaps for him before he can say any more, letting out a wordless, ragged yell as he collides with Mochida and knocks the two of them down. You rush forward to pull them apart, but Tsuna resists you, locking his legs around Mochida’s torso and beating on his face.

“Stop!” you shout. “Tsu-kun, stop!”

It’s like he can’t hear you. You watch in shock as he lands a hit directly to Mochida’s mouth, busting his lip. Blood drips down Mochida’s chin and gets on Tsuna’s knuckles, staining them deep red, and the sight of it seems to just anger Tsuna further.

“Stop!” you repeat, wrenching him away from Mochida for long enough that he’s able to look you in the eye. Your breath stutters when you see the ring of molten orange light coloring his irises, and you double down on your efforts to break them apart.

“Get off me!” Mochida cries, hands in front of his face in an attempt to protect himself. He doesn’t fight back; maybe he’s too shocked. “What’s wrong with you!?”

“What’s wrong with _you?_ ” Tsuna screeches, struggling against you. “You can’t just say those things to people!”

The door to the cafeteria slams open and heavy footsteps come your way.

“What is going on?” Nezu asks.

“Nezu-sensei, Dame-Tsuna just attacked Mochida-senpai out of nowhere!” someone explains.

As you finally manage to get a hold of both Tsuna’s arms so he stops clawing at Mochida, you look over and find that Nezu looks like the cat who got the canary.

“Tsuna, stop,” you beg. “You don’t need to prove yourself and—” your voice lowers into a hiss as you say, “ _you’re using your Flames!”_

Tsuna stops then, hands relaxing out of the fists they’d been clenched in, and finally goes limp. You drag him away from Mochida and help him stand. He’s shaking, but you can’t tell if it’s from anger or exhaustion.

“Ikeda-kun, please escort Mochida-kun to the nurse’s office,” Nezu instructs. He turns toward you and your brother. “You. With me. I’m taking you to the staff room and calling your mother.”

As he leads you away from the throng of students in the cafeteria, you see a flash of silver in the crowd.

*

“I’m sorry,” Tsuna says for the fifth time.

The two of you and Mama are walking home now, trailing after her dejectedly. Even though you hadn’t been involved and had actively tried to stop Tsuna from getting himself into even more trouble, you’d been sent home for the day right along with him—and given duties to clean the baseball pitch _and_ the track, for the entire rest of the week.

“I know,” Mama says. “But violence shouldn’t have been your first instinct.”

It would be extremely inappropriate to laugh, so you clamp down on the giggle bubbling up inside you. Reborn’s preferred life philosophy is, “If it doesn’t listen to me, commit violence against it,” and hearing something so blatantly in contradiction of that after being exposed to the World’s Greatest Hitman for weeks on end is hilarious in a surreal kind of way.

Tsuna gives you a helpless look and you shrug. You aren’t mad at him but you wish he hadn’t acted. Honestly you’re a little horrified—he’d been so incensed at the provocation that his Flames had responded. You doubt he would have been able to overpower Mochida otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” Tsuna repeats, out of a seeming lack of anything else to say.

“I know,” Mama says again, sounding tired. You can see she’s angry in the line of her shoulders. She hadn’t even been able to argue in Tsuna’s defense even though she had clearly wanted to. “Please, just don’t do this again.”

No matter how you look at it, Tsuna had attacked his fellow student. The bullying hadn’t even factored in; Nezu’s always happy to stand on the sidelines and watch as one of his least favorite students is taunted and pushed down.

When the three of you arrive home, Mama tells the two of you to go upstairs and wash up while she prepares lunch. She’d overslept today so you had to buy your lunch from the cafeteria, and in all the chaos you and Tsuna hadn’t been able to finish your food.

Reborn will probably give Tsuna the scolding of his life. If not for attacking Mochida, then for his use of Flames on a civilian.

Apparently Tsuna’s thinking what you are. Before you start up the stairs he turns and gives you an anxious look.

“What’s done is done, Tsu-kun,” you tell him. “Now you face the consequences, and you don’t do this again.”

You crack open the door of your room slowly, stepping over the tripwire Reborn sets up every day. You disarm the trap, beckon Tsuna in, and the two of you look around the room in silence. Reborn’s not in here.

“Maybe he’s downstairs—oh crap. You know what I just remembered?” Tsuna says.

“What?” you ask.

“Gokudera-san,” Tsuna says. “I bet Reborn-sensei’s talking to him.”

The two of you share a look, but at this point there’s not much more to discuss. You lead Tsuna to the bathroom, supervise as he washes Mochida’s dried blood off his hands, and try not to think about the empty hollow feeling welling up inside your chest.

*

The doorbell rings.

It’s evening and Mama’s preparing dinner; the delicious smell of frying beef and vegetables saturates the entire house, and your stomach has been gradually growling louder and louder in its attempts to get you off your ass and into the kitchen to find a snack.

You and Tsuna perk up to hear what’s going on. You can’t make out exactly what Mama’s saying, but whoever’s at the door—probably Reborn, since neither of you have seen him all day since this morning, when he’d woken you up by having Leon throw himself at your face—seems to have made her happy.

You and Tsuna cautiously creep down the stairs, you behind him so you can catch him by the back of the shirt if he trips. The sight you come down to is Mama showing Hayato and Reborn into the house.

“Tsu-kun! Takkun!” she calls, waving the two of you over. You eye Hayato nervously. “Your friend from school came over to deliver your homework, and he even said he’d share his notes!”

Tsuna pales. “O-oh. Thanks.”

“I also invited him to stay for dinner!” Mama says, clapping her hands happily. “Reborn-kun says Gokudera-kun is a very bright student. You should invite him for a study session sometime. I’m sure he would be able to help you out!”

Hayato clears his throat uncomfortably but says nothing.

Mama gasps. “That’s right! I need to prepare some more food. Why don’t you kids all go upstairs and play while I get dinner the rest of the way ready?”

Hayato seems hesitant, but ultimately he trudges up the stairs after you, Tsuna, and Reborn—if there was ever one consistent law of the universe, it’s that one does not say no to Sawada Nana.

The three of you—Reborn doesn’t count because he’s perched on your shoulder like some sort of killer parrot—sit awkwardly around the small table in the middle of your room. The quiet stretches on for so long you can physically _feel_ your soul attempting a jailbreak on your body.

Reborn decides to take mercy. “Tsunayoshi, after dinner we’re heading back to the school so you can fight Hayato.”

Reborn’s declaration appears to energize Hayato, who stands, slamming his hands onto the table.

“You were very cool today, Tenth! I admired the way you stood up for your sibling!” Hayato says, grinning at Tsuna. “A Boss should always protect their subordinates!”

You and Tsuna break out into equally loud protests.

“ _Not_ my subordinate—”

“Are you kidding me?”

Hayato laughs sheepishly. “Of course! The Tenth’s sibling must be nothing other than an equal!”

“Tenth?” Tsuna whispers to Reborn, while Hayato continues to gush about Tsuna’s alleged badassery.

“I _am_ training you to inherit,” Reborn says. “It’s only natural he would call you by your title.”

“—I look forward to our match!” Hayato finishes, just as Mama calls you all down to dinner.

“M-me too,” Tsuna says, sounding not even half as enthusiastic as Hayato had.

*

After dinner, Reborn gives Mama some excuse about getting some exercise outside. She nods and accepts it, but tells him to make sure everyone gets back before sunset.

During the walk there, Hayato pulls a cigarette from a case in his pocket and lights it. You subtly steer yourself in between him and Tsuna, itching to tell Hayato to cut it out, but it wouldn’t do anything, so you keep it to yourself.

From the moment you step foot onto school grounds, you’re on edge. If Hibari— _Kyoya,_ your mind supplies, but you’re too scared of him to refer to him so familiarly even if it’s just in your head—isn’t prowling around Namimori looking for wrongdoers, or isn’t at home, he’s bound to be here, which doesn’t bode well considering Hayato’s M.O. is explosives.

Property. Destruction.

But Reborn, thank god, leads you, Hayato, and Tsuna to the abandoned patch of land behind the school. It’s barely any different than tearing up the school itself but maybe, just maybe, if Hibari catches you it’ll decrease the force of his wrath.

Reborn directs Tsuna and Hayato to stand on opposite ends of the field, and then says, “You may begin.”

Immediately, Hayato pulls a stick of dynamite and lights it with his cigarette.

“THAT’S A BOMB!” Tsuna shouts, whipping around to look at Reborn.

“Gokudera Hayato is an up-and-coming assassin. He’s got potential in spades,” Reborn says, seemingly having no problem with providing an explanation now that the cat’s out of the bag. “He’s also known as Smokin’ Bomb Hayato, and his weapon of choice is dynamite.”

Hayato tosses the explosive at Tsuna experimentally, who yelps and leaps out of the way. Hayato huffs out a laugh and pulls out two sticks this time, holding between his fingers for a little while after he lights them and then tossing them at Tsuna so they detonate in the air behind him.

It goes on like that for a few minutes, Hayato and Tsuna feeling each other out while you and Reborn watch from the sidelines.

“Why don’t you attack me?” Hayato asks eventually, lobbing a small fistful of explosives at Tsuna.

“Because I’m scared of the freaking dynamite you’re throwing at me! How am I supposed to get in close if—ACK!” Tsuna narrowly avoids Hayato’s next volley, sidestepping at the last moment and almost losing his balance. He manages to right himself in the air at the last moment.

Hayato begins to chase Tsuna around the field, growling whenever Tsuna does nothing but dodge instead of try to land a hit. “I saw you and that asshole earlier today!” Hayato yells, beginning to look more and more frustrated. “You tore him apart!”

“I—I don’t know what happened!” Tsuna says, clapping his hands over his ears as an explosion goes off near his head. “That was a fluke, okay!?”

You can barely hear it over the booms and bangs, but Hayato hisses, “A fluke? A _fluke?_ This is such a joke!”

Another minute passes, and Hayato completely loses his cool.

“All right! Enough of this—I’m going all out,” Hayato proclaims, and pulls a frankly terrifying amount of dynamite from his pockets. “I’ll force you to fight back instead of running away!”

What follows is Hayato’s most ambitious attack yet. He throws explosives at Tsuna in staggered waves, forcing your brother to continually dodge and dance out of the way. The noise is so intense, so deep and loud that you can only cover your ears and wonder how nobody has noticed this.

It goes pear-shaped on the fifth wave. Hayato, who’s been running after Tsuna in circles around the grassy field, catches on a rock or some other disturbance with his foot. Whatever it is, he goes down hard, faceplants into the ground. The dynamite falls around him, half-circle of crackling death.

Hayato rolls over. Sees his doom. His eyes widen and he pushes himself onto his elbows, frantically scrambles back as Tsuna turns around and sees and he’s stopping, heels grinding harshly into the ground as he reverses all his momentum and makes a mad dash toward Hayato.

Alarm bells are ringing in your head. All you can think is _no, no, no_ as Tsuna dives for Hayato. He’s not using his Flames. He has no protection against the inevitable blast. He can’t possibly hope to save Hayato and survive.

There’s no way you’ll get there in time to get them to safety. You just won’t be able to make it.

The fuses aren’t long on these particular sticks of dynamite and they run out so quickly. It’s impossible. You feel like you’re falling. There’s a rush in your ears and your heart is pounding so hard you might throw up. You can’t do it.

But Tsuna is yours and Hayato will be Tsuna’s, so that means he’s yours too. You at least have to try.

A scream pushes up and out of your throat, raw and ragged, scraping painfully at the inside of your throat.

You break into a sprint to get to them on time, but you’re not going to make it. They’re so far away. Tsuna is rolling with the momentum of his dive and he and Hayato are tumbling, tumbling but there’s too much and the dynamite is fizzing, so damn close to exploding and killing the two of them and you just—need—a little— _speed._

Your legs are burning up.

They’re on fire, and it hurts so bad. You’re walking on live coals as you rush toward Tsuna. You’re crying from the pain of it but nothing else matters. You’re a streak of purple fire racing toward them. You’re scared. You’re crumbling.

You grab Hayato and Tsuna by the backs of their collars, dragging them out of the way of the blast and throwing them as far ahead of you as you can.

You hardly hear the explosion go off. You register a swell of heat at your back, the ugly scent of burning grass, but beyond that, nothing is worthy of your attention but Tsuna. Tsuna with tears clinging to the corners of his eyes. Tsuna reaching out to you with fear on his face. Tsuna who’s alive.

You crash into him with enough force to push him a few feet back. You can’t even say his name. The moment you open your mouth you’re choked with sobs. You wrap your arms around him and bawl like a baby while he runs his hands through your hair.

“I’m okay,” he says, voice cracking in the middle and betraying that he’s really, really not. “Takkun, it’s okay.”

Tsuna lets you cry it out until you’ve stopped shaking and the pain in your legs has subsided to a manageable level. Hayato has been fussing on the edge of your periphery for probably the past five minutes; you lift your face for long enough to see his stricken expression and burst into renewed tears.

It takes you another few minutes to calm down, and Tsuna helps you stand. You can probably walk, but any faster than that and your legs would most likely give out on you.

The moment you’re able to balance without feeling like you’ll topple over, Hayato throws himself to the ground in front of you and your brother.

“What are you doing?” Tsuna splutters, throwing his hands out in an attempt to get Hayato to stop.

“Tenth and Tenth’s honorable sibling! I swear I will serve you for the rest of my life!” he says.

“Wh-wh-why!?” Tsuna yelps, taking a step back. You move with him, if only because you’re not willing to let him get too far from you. “You don’t have to do that! Really!”

“I do!” Hayato insists. “After seeing you and your sibling put your lives on the line to save me—me, who tried to kill you out of frustration!—I would be lower than scum if I didn’t choose to follow you! Your wish is my command, Tenth!”

Tsuna’s brain appears to have completely stopped working, so you step up in his place.

“Gokudera-san, please get off the ground,” you say, carefully choosing every word. “We are honored that you think so highly of us. However, Tsuna isn’t the Tenth yet. He’s only being trained for the title. As such, he’d feel uncomfortable for you to call him by a name he hasn’t yet earned.”

“I understand,” Hayato says earnestly. “Sawada-sama.”

“NO!” Tsuna shouts, and then, in a calmer voice, “My name is Tsuna. Just—just call me Tsuna.”

“Mine’s Takahisa,” you say. “Call me Takahisa. Or Takkun.”

Hayato looks like he’s on the verge of crying happy tears. “Then address me as Hayato! I’m honored to be on a first-name basis with the future Tenth Generation Vongola boss and his honorable sibling!”

Tsuna groans and covers his face with his hands. You pat his shoulder consolingly.

“Treat us like friends,” you say to Hayato.

Hayato’s eyes widen. “Of course!” he says enthusiastically. “It’s an honor—”

You cut him off by dragging him into a hug. The action puts Tsuna out of your field of vision so you spin Hayato around until you can see Tsuna’s standing safely in front of you and not being dead. Hayato squeaks and his arms go rigid at his sides. Tsuna rolls his eyes and steps forward to join you in your impromptu hugging session.

“Don’t think about it too much,” you say. If you really focus you can tell you’re still shaking slightly, and your forehead is damp where you’re resting it on Hayato’s shoulder. “It’s not an honor. You nearly died.”

“But—” Hayato attempts to protest. Tsuna interrupts him.

“Just listen to them,” Tsuna sighs. “It’s easier that way.”

And Reborn, being Reborn, immediately comes to break up your little cuddle party.

“You three make me sick to my stomach,” he deadpans, holding a suspiciously green fire extinguisher and spraying the contents toward you. You’re forced to separate from Tsuna in order to dodge it. “Tsunayoshi, you failed.”

“Yeah,” Tsuna says, deflating. “I thought so.”

“You took my advice too seriously. When I told you dodging would be important, I didn’t mean for you to do nothing but dodge. You would have died—” You flinch. “—if Takahisa hadn’t come to your rescue.”

“Oh . . . hey, Takkun, how’d you do that anyway?” Tsuna asks.

Dynamite. Tsuna. Hayato. _I need to save him._

“I don’t know. Tsuna was in danger. I had to protect him,” you say. You don’t know how to explain the desperate need to protect Tsuna that’s curling up inside you. No words are adequate for this—Tsuna is yours. He’s _yours._ “He can’t get hurt.”

Reborn eyes you appraisingly. You don’t like the look you see there.

“Takahisa possesses a Cloud Flame,” he explains. “They used its property, Propagation, to multiply their speed, as well as their strength and durability. It’s unconventional, but not entirely unheard of.”

“But Clouds usually have a territory, right?” Tsuna asks, looking between you and Reborn. “A place they’re really possessive over? How come I haven’t seen them care that much about anything except for . . . me. And Mama.”

Reborn smiles. “It seems Takahisa’s territory is people instead of a place. Again, unusual—but you see it every now and then. It seems I’ll have to kick your training up another notch.”

“I expected that,” you say.

“Did you also expect Hibari Kyoya?” Reborn asks curiously.

“What?” Tsuna says, tilting his head at the non sequitur, but you already know. You turn around, even as Tsuna complains, “That made no sense!”

When you meet Hibari’s eyes, he says, “For disturbing the peace of the abandoned field behind Namimori Middle, I will bite you to death.”

*

You come home a little after dark, dirty and exhausted and covered in bruises. Inexplicably, Hayato tags along. No one—except maybe Reborn—even notices until you and Tsuna are tucked into bed, and Hayato into a spare futon spread out on the floor next to the little table.

When you ask Hayato where he’s staying, he admits he’d rented an apartment but had neglected to furnish it.

Tsuna mumbles, “Stay here,” sleepily, probably without thinking, and he might not notice Hayato letting out a shuddering exhale but you do.

“Dame-Tsuna,” Reborn scolds. Tsuna isn’t even conscious enough to protest the rare use of his hated nickname. “You can’t invite people to stay without asking your mother.”

“Have you seen Mama around him?” you ask. Your voice is slurred because your cheek’s mushing into your pillow. You’ll probably wake up to a drool stain. You don’t care. “She w’s practically . . . treating him like one of us.”

“Never assume,” Reborn says.

That’s a good point, so you force yourself out of bed and stand on aching legs. The railing mostly only sees use from Tsuna, but tonight you’re clutching tight to it, trying not to fall.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs you reach out toward Tsuna, and realize he’s not there; you fight through a split second of panic, reminding yourself that Tsuna is right upstairs, he’s in bed and Hayato and Reborn are there in case anything happens.

Mama is sitting at the dining table, reading glasses perched over her nose as she reads a book.

“Hi, Mama,” you say, coming up behind her and wrapping her in a loose hug. She leans into your touch, humming quietly. She’s warm. She’s home. “Can Hayato stay with us?”

“For how long?” Mama asks.

“Um.”

“Does he have a safe place to stay?” she asks.

You shake your head against her back. Wait. Shrug. “I don’t know where it is and he doesn’t have any furniture. ‘M worried about him.”

“We do have some extra rooms,” Mama says, sounding tired but content. “And I always did want some more kids. Money isn’t an issue.”

“That’s it?” you ask. “Are you sure?”

“Takkun,” Mama says, and hesitates. She gathers herself. “You’ve never had friends over. Not once. Neither has Tsu-kun. I know you’re happy with just each other, but I worry. If Gokudera-kun is important enough that you’re sincerely asking this of me, we’ll let him into our home.”

“Just like that,” you say.

“Just like that,” she echoes.

You hug her tighter. She laughs a little. You don’t want to let go. Never, not ever—but she gently pries your arms from around her and tells you to go up to bed.

You slip quietly into your room to see Tsuna breathing gently, no doubt sleeping. Reborn’s snoring softly but you’re not sure how much of that is an act. Hayato is awake, staring at you like he thinks you’ve come to kick him out.

“You can stay,” you say, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“For how long?” he asks.

“Until you want to leave,” you say, stifling a smile when his expression transforms into shock.

“I—I’m not worthy!” he says, barely a whisper and really encroaching on normal volume. You hold a finger to your lips and he averts his eyes bashfully.

“You definitely are,” you say.

How do you explain it to him? How do you explain that you know who he is, who he could become, who he was—someone scared of the sight of his sister, someone whose mother died on her way to visit him, someone who could become Tsuna’s closest ally and confidant, and someone who, above anything else, needs friends.

“I don’t understand,” Hayato says. “Why would you do this for me? I tried to kill the Tenth. Tsuna. You _saved_ me.”

You don’t tell him the main reason you did it had been Tsuna. Instead you say, “You don’t seem like a bad person.”

Hayato rolls over in the futon and sighs. Maybe he doesn’t know how to react to that, and maybe your reasoning seems shaky. You get it. He might not understand today or tomorrow or even the day after, but you have time, and the hope that he’ll stick around for long enough to figure it out.

You lie down and begin to drift off to sleep. Just before unconsciousness takes its claim on you, a thought occurs. If you’re a Cloud, and Hibari’s a Cloud, that means you’ll be replacing him as Tsuna’s Guardian. Hibari had been the strongest, and you’ll have to pick up the slack until you can catch up with him.

To your sleep-addled brain, the next thing you say makes complete and perfect sense.

“Hey, Reborn-sensei. You need to train me even harder than you said you would. Gotta . . . be the strongest. G’night.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo it is i, falterth, back again with more of the self-indulgent drivel you know and love (hopefully). most of this chapter was written past one in the morning so if you see any typos please tell me. also kyoya kind of took over a good chunk of this chapter even though he wasn't supposed to, so there's that.
> 
> thx for reading

School is rough.

People whisper whenever Tsuna gets near, calling him a delinquent and asking if he’s going to target them next. You stand up when he’s too reluctant to speak for himself, and Hayato seems happy to commit acts of violence toward those who try to get physical. He proclaims himself as Tsuna’s bodyguard, sending a hopeful glance your way and relaxing when you smile and nod.

As ordered to, you and Tsuna stick around after each day to clean up the baseball diamond and the track. You’re not sure what, exactly, Namimori Middle is even doing with a track considering the track-and-field team was discontinued before you even started attending, but it seems to come into relevance as a means to make you and your brother stay longer and work harder.

Hayato insists on staying with you, but he’s got his own studies and besides, Reborn has obligingly agreed to take the young hitman under his wing. That doesn’t bode well, but you would rather Reborn influence Hayato for the worse than for him to not have anyone to study under.

He won’t be allowed to stagnate. If he doesn’t learn, he won’t grow stronger. If he doesn’t grow stronger, he won’t be able to protect Tsuna. You will not, _cannot,_ let that happen.

You and Tsuna have to insist and push and prod at Hayato all the way to the school gate before he agrees to go home, Reborn perched on his head to hitch along for the ride. You understand Hayato is leery about leaving you and Tsuna alone without anyone to protect you, but you haven’t been in danger from hitmen, or whoever he thinks is going to come threaten you, all thirteen years you’ve been alive. No one has their sights set on you—well, either that, or someone you don’t know about is protecting you from the shadows, which is unlikely.

What all this means is that when Hibari attacks you on your third day of campus cleanup, Hayato isn’t around to distract him.

Hibari catches you in the middle of the back with a kick that sends you flying, that knocks the air out of your lungs and the broom out of your hands. He leaves you struggling on the ground for about a minute before you stagger to your feet and glare at him.

Apparently, Hibari’s preferred method of starting a conversation is to violently attack you. Cool.

“Fight me,” Hibari commands.

“I’m busy,” you wheeze, turning around and picking up your broom. The kick hurts more than it should—Reborn’s extra training has given you bruises on top of your bruises.

“I don’t care,” he says. “Fight me with that purple fire. I saw you use it on Monday.”

You take a swing at him with the handle of your broom, but he dodges. It looks effortless. You hate him a little.

“Stop,” you say, glancing toward where Tsuna’s picking the bases up and dusting them off. “I don’t want to fight. I have to clean. And we’re in the bleachers. Shouldn’t you care about the potential property damage?”

“I will arrange for your cleaning duty to be rescinded. We can relocate,” Hibari says. “Fight me.”

“No,” you say.

Honestly, you’re a little ticked off at him, and it’s completely irrational. It isn’t his fault you accidentally usurped him as Tsuna’s Cloud guardian, or that in a fit of complete insanity you’d asked Reborn to turn up the heat on your already hellish training. But every time you see Hibari you get just a little angry.

“Very well,” Hibari agrees. For a second you’re dumb enough to think he’s going to leave you alone, but then he says, “I will collect you once you are finished. Goodbye, omnivore.”

“That’s not my name,” you mutter, watching him balefully as he heads for the school.

“Omnivore,” he sneers, looking over his shoulder. “Do not forget.”

You shudder.

“Takkun? What’s going on?” Tsuna yells. You look at him and his eyes are wide, concerned. He’s completely stopped cleaning and is quickly walking toward you. “Did you get in trouble with Hibari-senpai?”

“Kind of. He saw what happened a couple days ago,” you say. “I think he wants to pummel me into the ground, but with Flames. Too bad for him.”

You haven’t been able to call up your Flames since then—they’d only responded to you seeing Tsuna in immediate danger.

As part of your training, Reborn had attempted nearly everything in order to draw your Flames out of hiding—threats of bodily harm to yourself, to Tsuna, to Hayato, to Mama. None of it had worked. You can’t convince yourself Reborn would ever harm your family.

“Yeah. I hope he leaves you alone.” Tsuna hums, scrubbing at another base mat with his sponge. “You know, I don’t get why we even have to clean these. They get dirty without anyone even doing anything.”

“Because Nezu-sensei’s a petty asshole,” you say, and leave it at that.

You’re finished within the hour. The bleachers have been scourged of litter and dusty footprints, and the track has been pressure washed so thoroughly it’s a different color from when you started. Whose idea was it to let a couple of middle schoolers use a pressure washer anyway?

Carefully, you and Tsuna creep past the school gates—and find Hibari waiting there with his arms crossed.

“For attempting to escape me,” he says, pulling his tonfas out and setting them against his arms, “I will bite you to death.”

You look at Tsuna. He nods. You copy the motion.

_Three. Two. One._

In a flurry of motion, Tsuna takes off for home and you’re hot on his heels. It’s well past school hours, so you don’t have to push your way through crowds of students who are leaving school, but you also don’t have the advantage of taking cover behind groups of tall upperclassmen.

Reborn’s training really shines through now—you don’t manage to beat Hibari all the way to your house, but you get at least halfway there before he tackles you. You’re not wearing the uniform jacket today, so when the two of you skid along the sidewalk—you furiously trying to escape him and Hibari attempting to pin your arms at your sides—the concrete scrapes harshly against you, and you just _know_ you’re going to have friction burns all over your biceps after this is over.

When the forward momentum finally fizzles, you find yourself making surprise eye contact with Hibari. Your faces are inches apart. He looks like he’s barely holding back a growl, and there’s a feral sort of light in his eyes that sets off warning bells in your head.

You curl your legs under him, tense up, and kick him in the stomach. He doesn’t move as much as you’d hoped for but it gives you enough freedom of movement to roll out from under him and get your feet back under you.

As soon as Hibari recovers, he’s back on the offensive. He strikes your arms with the tonfas so hard you imagine you can hear your bones creaking with the effort of blocking the blow, and from that you learn you absolutely cannot let those deathtraps touch you. Or you will die. Obviously.

“Use the fire,” Hibari says, launching himself toward you at what you’re pretty sure are mach speeds. “You’re weak without it.”

“Wow, you really know how to make me feel good about myself,” you say. You try to dodge out of the way but he predicts it and changes course, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and kneeing you in the ribs—once, twice, and you feel like you’ll vomit from the pain of it. You can barely breathe, but you’re angry and full of spite. “For a member of the Disciplinary Committee, you sure like to bully people, huh?”

“Takkun!” Tsuna says, sounding both scandalised and like he’s one wrong move away from bursting into laughter.

Hibari releases you, begins to turn that movement into another swipe with his tonfas, and you quickly say, “Wait, I’m not just messing with you! I can’t use my Flames!”

He pauses. Fixes you with an icy glare. “Can’t? Explain.”

“I only used them once, to protect Tsuna,” you say. “I can’t make it happen unless I need to—”

You cut yourself off as a very, _very_ important realization dawns upon you. Reborn may not be willing to do more than bluff about maiming your family— _territory mine mine mine_ —but Hibari has no such qualms. But . . . it’s too late. Judging by the gleam in his eyes, he’s caught on to what you were about to say.

It only takes a blur of motion and he’s standing behind Tsuna, swinging his tonfas at your brother’s head. _Your. Brother’s. Head._

This is a clear manipulation. He just wants you to use your Flames. Even knowing this, you fall for it.

It’s not something you consciously do; you take action and your Flames roar to life just beneath your skin, seamlessly blending with the instinct to protect what’s yours. Your entire body is feverish with heat, and a purple haze shrouds your peripheral vision, but that’s okay—all your focus is on Hibari.

You’re there nearly before you can register it, clasping your hands into a fist in front of you and raising them above your head. You swing downward at Hibari’s forearm—a dull _CRACK_ rings through the air.

The impact sends a jolt through you. You gasp for air, gasp to steady yourself and when the feeling of being hit by a truck subsides, you dare to raise your head. Hibari’s looking at you, directly at you. His mouth is twisted into a grin and his eyes are blown wide—he looks like a wild thing in the evening light. His left arm is hanging by his side, sticking out at a crooked angle. It looks painful, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

You tear your gaze away from him to make sure Tsuna’s safe. He is, whole and undamaged and standing in front of you. You still feel like you’re going to turn into cinders and blow away on the wind, but everything is a little more stable, a little more real now that you’ve seen proof that you successfully defended Tsuna.

“Adequate, omnivore,” Hibari says. His voice itches at you, spikes irritation inside of you. He’d wanted to use Tsuna to bait you into using your Flames. He’d been prepared to hurt your brother. “You will fight me again tomorrow.”

“No,” you say. “Come on, Tsuna. Let’s go home.”

*

“Yes,” Reborn says.

There is no room for protest. No room for argument. No room for a reasonable debate. Reborn says you will train with Hibari Kyoya every day after school, and you are completely powerless to change that.

*

The next day—Friday afternoon, about half an hour after school lets out—finds you having an anxiety attack on the floor of the equipment shed.

Halfway through homeroom you’d begun to feel dysphoric, and it had only worsened from there. You twitched every time you were called on in class. When anyone looked at you, it felt like they were looking inside you. Your anxiety about large crowds in general had mashed together with all those other awful feelings, and their eyes on you, the touches when someone accidentally brushed against you—it had all wrapped up into this: you slowly sitting down in the equipment shed when you’re supposed to be dusting the shelves, clutching tight to your feather duster and trying not to cry.

Tsuna had tried to stay, to comfort you, but you’d sent him away to pick up trash left over from the baseball team’s practice.

You kind of regret that now. You’ve started to lose control of your breathing and the stray thought of someone accidentally walking in and seeing you, existing near you, is enough to almost break the dam. You hope Tsuna comes back quickly. You hope no one sees this.

But the universe hates you. It hates you with a burning, searing passion, so when the door slides open and you look up hopefully only to find it’s not Tsuna but Yamamoto Takeshi standing there, you drop the feather duster in shock and burst into tears.

He immediately rushes to your side, which makes you feel even worse.

“Sawada-san? What’s wrong? Do you need a teacher?” he asks. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut tight and hiding your face in your hands. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

You can’t speak, so you shrug instead, curling in on yourself and mentally calling out for Tsuna and Mama. Unless they’ve both developed psychic powers within the last half an hour, it’s a useless effort, but it still makes you feel better to try.

“Should I leave?” Takeshi asks.

For reasons which will remain forever unknown, you shrug.

“Oh. Okay. I’ll stay,” Takeshi says. “Never know when you might need something.”

You still won’t open your eyes, so you hear and feel rather than see Takeshi sitting down next to you. He doesn’t say anything, just peacefully coexists with you in silence while you attempt to get yourself under control.

“‘m sorry,” you say eventually, scrubbing furiously at your face.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says.

“Sorry,” you say again, before what he says registers. “Oh—I mean. Uh.”

“It’s okay,” Takeshi says. “I get it.”

You have nothing to say to that. If you tried to talk, you’d only hand him another apology, so you let the silence stretch on. Somehow, it isn’t awkward.

Your arm is only a few centimeters away from Takeshi’s, and you don’t expect it but he radiates heat like a furnace, which is a welcome change from the late November weather. The thought that you could reach out and touch him doesn’t inspire anxiety in you like it usually would with strangers.

The atmosphere in the equipment shed is downright soporific. You don’t realize you’re beginning to fall asleep until you list to the side and fall on Takeshi. The unexpected impact brings you back into wakefulness long enough that you mumble another apology, and then you’re out.

*

“—to ask you,” Takeshi says.

“Me?” Tsuna whispers.

You open your eyes. Blink them once, and then again to clear them of the usual post-nap fuzziness.

“I’m awake,” you say. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Takkun, you’re awake!” Tsuna says, scooting over to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “Yamamoto-kun has a very calming presence. He helped me.”

You know he’s a Rain, but you don’t know how much of what happened was his Flames and how much was Takeshi just being that comforting of a person. In his initial explanation of the seven Flame types, Reborn had said Rain Flame users were the second-most likely to unknowingly become Flame-active, second to Sun types. He’d also said Rain-types were the most likely to use their Flames at a subconscious level to soothe their allies.

Although, now that you’re giving it a little thought, your exhaustion definitely factors into that equation. Somewhere. Reborn has been working you to the bone, and yesterday introduced you to an entirely new definition of stress, also known as Hibari Kyoya.

“I didn’t really do that much though,” Takeshi says, rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks embarrassed.

“That’s not true! Sometimes just sitting with Takkun helps them calm down,” Tsuna says. “I didn’t know they were feeling this bad. You really helped out. Don’t downplay it.”

You nod in agreement. You’re still leaning slightly on Takeshi, and you think you might be relaxed enough to fall back asleep.

“What did you want to ask?” you say to Takeshi. Hopefully if you keep yourself in the conversation, you won’t be tempted to close your eyes for a few hours. “I heard you talking to Tsu-kun when I woke up.”

“Oh! Yeah. I just,” Takeshi says. He doesn’t seem like he knows exactly what he wants to say, and you and Tsuna wait patiently as he visibly works through his mental process. “The team, the baseball team, hasn’t been doing that well recently. I feel like I’m not improving at all. You know how it is, right? When you try your best but it’s not enough. What . . . what should I do? How do I get out of this?”

The question doesn’t seem all that deep or life-changing at first glance, and it’s been years so you’re a little fuzzy on all the details, but you can’t forget about this. He isn’t yours. Not quite. Not yet. But he will be one day—he’ll be good for Tsuna, and Tsuna will be good for him. It counts in all the ways that matter, so you have to help him now.

“Take a break,” Tsuna says seriously.

“But—”

“Yamamoto-kun, listen to me,” you interrupt. “When you reach the upper ceiling of your abilities, there are two choices you can make. You can force your way through, or you can give yourself a break. When you purposefully push through your own limits—when you give yourself no choice but to keep going—most of the time, something is going to go wrong. You’ll sprain a muscle. You’ll break a bone. You’ll completely burn out and start to hate whatever it is you were doing. When you let yourself rest, you’re allowing your body and mind to become comfortable with the new heights you’ve achieved. And when you are ready to act again, in most cases you will find you’re able to. It isn’t the same for everyone, but generally, this has always worked for Tsu-kun and I. You’ve been working very hard. Everyone knows it. You deserve some time off.”

You give Takeshi a little while to think about it while Tsuna immediately ruins your speech by saying, “You sound so old right now.”

“No I do _not,_ ” you say.

“Yeah you do,” Tsuna teases. “Next you’re gonna tell me about how when you were my age, you had it so much harder. And you’re going to complain about modern tech.”

“Nooooooo,” you groan, leaning back until your head _thunk_ s against the wooden back wall of the equipment shed.

Takeshi laughs, loud and bright. “You’re right! I think I need to sit back and relax. Mind if I hang out with you guys?”

You look to Tsuna. He shrugs.

“We’d like to, but right now we’re just cleaning,” he says. “Punishment for attacking Mochida-senpai.”

“I heard about that,” Takeshi says, letting his arms fall from where he had them crossed over his knees. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to do that to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, he definitely deserved it,” Tsuna says.

You don’t refute him, but you don’t agree either.

“Hey, Tsu-kun,” you say. The light filtering in from the only window is watery-gold. The sun must be on its way to setting. You stand and stretch—god, your legs are cramped. “How much cleaning is left to do? I think Hibari-senpai wants to beat the crap out of me soon.”

“None,” he says. “I finished it. It didn’t take as long today because of how well we cleaned the track yesterday. You better go before he decides you tried to ditch him again.”

You grimace and pull open the door of the shed. “Yeah.”

“Hibari-senpai—” Takeshi asks, but you close the door on the rest of his question.

Tsuna can explain all that. You drained your entire social battery to give Takeshi that motivational speech. You aren’t sure if it will work—you’d bet on Takeshi being fairly depressed at the very least, and it doesn’t say anything good that his original first course of action after breaking his arm had been to throw himself off the school roof. What Takeshi really needs is a therapist, and maybe some friends he can trust to care for him as a person, and not as a baseball player.

If you think of him as Tsuna’s, and therefore yours, it’s easier to warm up to the idea. You’ve had years to sort out your feelings on all of Tsuna’s potential Guardians. Actually interacting with them is a little different—they’re real people who have feelings and thoughts and all the wonderful little quirks that come with being alive. 

You’re a little scared of people—you always have been. But they’re kids. You feel at least a little obliged to help them out.

Even Hibari, who terrifies you, and who you can’t find.

You’re too nervous to walk back into the school—your anxiety started there today, and it seems to have faded for now but if you go through those doors there’s no telling if it’ll make a reappearance.

With that in mind, you decide to wander the campus until Hibari finds you.

“What would you regret if you died?”

You’re not proud to admit you scream. “Reborn-sensei! Don’t sneak up on me like that. I think I almost went into cardiac arrest.”

“But you didn’t,” he says, gesturing for you to walk next to him. “Answer my question.”

“I’d regret not being strong enough to survive,” you say. “I don’t—all my goals are tied to surviving. So if I died, that in itself would probably be my regret.”

“Hmm. I can work with that,” Reborn says cryptically.

“You’re not going to shoot me, right?” you ask.

“Of course not,” Reborn says, smiling honestly. His expression is so innocent and angelic it almost gives you hives.

“I don’t believe that,” you say flatly.

“Good. You trust far too easily,” Reborn says. “And I heard the conversation you had in the equipment shed. Think you’re cut out to be a motivational speaker?”

“No,” you say, slightly embarrassed. “I just had a bad feeling.”

“Trust your bad feelings. You have a good way with words, when you actually bother to use them,” Reborn says. You try—and fail—not to brighten under his praise. “So don’t bother with the whole ‘cryptic’ thing. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not cryptic,” you say. “Just nervous. All the time.”

Reborn offers no wise insight nor scathing reprimand for you. Instead he walks in companionable quiet with you, slightly in the lead. He’s steering you around the back of the school, to the grassy field where you had first used your Flames.

“Where’s Hayato?” you ask, thinking of it at the last second.

“Nana trapped him in the kitchen with her. He’s helping with dinner.”

With that, you’ve reached the fence separating school grounds from field, and you climb over it, ignoring the protests of your aching muscles.

Hibari is waiting for you, standing away from the patches of burnt grass.

Reborn had cut out an entire hour of his new Super Special Advanced Training Designed Specifically to Hurt Takahisa to dedicate to the Super Special Advanced Training Designed Specifically to Hurt Takahisa 2: Electric Boogaloo.

You’re just hoping you can dodge well enough that Hibari doesn’t hit you on any of the places he had yesterday. It’s probably a losing battle—even with his arm in a sling, he’s going to kick your butt.

“Omnivore,” he greets. “Where is your herbivore brother?”

“My name’s Sawada. Or Takahisa,” you say. Last night you’d told Tsuna not to come because you’d been afraid Hibari would try to attack him again. “Tsu-kun doesn’t need to fight, so he’s not here.”

Hibari glares at Reborn, who says, “Don’t worry. There are other ways of provoking Takahisa’s Flames into action.” Reborn turns to you, pointing his gun directly at your face. “Are you ready to die?”

“Wh—”

He shoots.

All your fears had been right. Death is absolutely terrifying.

You choke on a scream as you fall. Should it hurt this much? You’re pretty sure Reborn got you right in the head with that bullet. The center of your forehead is a starburst of pain, cracks in your skull. You barely feel it when you fall to your knees.

You’re dying. Dying dying dying. With the last of your ability to form coherent thought, you mentally scream, _IF I WAS STRONG ENOUGH TO TAKE HIBARI DOWN, THIS WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED._

That’s the switch.

The pain fades, dripping out the soles of your feet. You open your eyes and stand up. Distantly you’re aware most of your clothes are lying in a heap next to you, and the late autumn breeze gives you gooseflesh even though you’re cloaked in purple flame.

None of it matters.

What’s important is Hibari.

You throw yourself at him, making a grab for his tonfa. If that’s out of the way you’ll have less of a disadvantage. Part of you knows you could capitalize on his current weakness—you could attack his broken arm over and over and over until he can’t fight anymore. But you don’t want to permanently maim him; you just want to win.

Hibari catches you mid-lunge. He tries to use it against you, attempts to slam you into the ground and knock the wind out of you, but you twist so you land on your feet. You waste no motion; all your energy goes to your feet and you spring up at him, jabbing your elbow into his throat.

He staggers back a couple of steps but doesn’t show any sign that your blow really affected him. He’s made of steel. He has to be.

You try to reposition yourself behind him, maybe kick the backs of his knees, take him by surprise or something, but before you can even get around him he nails you with a punch to the side of your face. Your vision goes fuzzy around the edges from the pain, and your cheek stings where his tonfa collided with it. It’s going to bruise.

You attack him again, a little desperate this time to do anything more than knock him around a little. He dodges or redirects nearly everything you throw his way; the only hits you’re able to land after that are a weak kick to his shin and your knuckles brushing against his ribs.

The fight drags on, on and on with you becoming sloppier the more the Dying Will bullet wears off, until it ends with you sprawled out on the ground, taking deep gulps of air.

He doesn’t even help you to your feet.

“I expect better of you next time,” Hibari says. Turns to where you think Reborn standing. “Fight me, infant.”

You can’t see your tutor, but you hear him chuckle.

“Maybe in forty years,” he says, in the kind of tone you’d use to talk to a naive child. Hibari growls, shifts forward in the general direction of Reborn. You hear the crack when Reborn fires his gun, but Hibari doesn’t seem hurt. “You heard me.”

It takes Hibari a clear and drawn-out effort to get himself under control and refrain from attacking Reborn on the spot. Once he doesn’t look quite so unhinged, he glances at you and says, “Fight me again tomorrow. I will bite you to death if you attempt to avoid me.”

You groan. Reborn, awful human being that he is, laughs loudly and obnoxiously.

*

The takeaway from that is twofold: one, you’re very much in need of more practice; and two, unless you learn how to use your Flames without the crutch of Dying Will Mode, and fast, _you_ are going to be Reborn’s favorite target from now on—not Tsuna.

On Sunday, Reborn is in one of his rare merciful moods and allows you to rest, and nurse the bruises Hibari gave you during yesterday’s beatdown.

“Don’t get used to this,” he warns you, ushering a grumbling Tsuna out the door. “Tsunayoshi, stop dragging your feet. You’ve overslept too long. You’ll be late for the baseball game.”

Before the door slams shut behind them, you hear Tsuna say, “ _Why_ do you always have to—”

You’re left alone in your room.

You haven’t come downstairs all morning. You gave Mama the excuse that your cramps are really bad, and she’s been coming upstairs every half hour to check in on you and make sure you’re okay. You love when Mama dotes on you like this—every time she eases the door open and pokes her head in to ask if you need something, your insides go gooey.

Hayato’s been just as bad. Yesterday, Reborn officially forbade him from attending any of Tsuna’s training due to, and you quote, “Excessive and annoying fretting.”

Reborn has been teaching Tsuna to use his Flames—refining his control and strengthening his force. Hayato, who’d been entirely unfamiliar with what said training entails, had immediately taken to simultaneously worrying about Tsuna and singing his praises. Something about the Tenth growing ever stronger.

Hence, the training ban.

With nothing better to do, Hayato has turned all his nervous energy on you instead. To some degree, he’s the twitchiest out of the three of you when it comes to ongoing personal safety. What you have in possessive, spur-of-the moment action, he compensates for in careful planning for the future. What Tsuna lacks in fine attention to detail, Hayato makes up for by perhaps paying a little _too_ much mind to the little things. Between the three of you, there’s more than enough mother hen to go around.

Which is good. Definitely good. Judging by the kinds of people who will, hopefully, become fellow Guardians with you, there is going to be a definite need for some good old-fashioned “mom friend”-ing.

“Takkun?”

“Hi, Mama,” you say, snuggling deep into your blankets so she can’t see the bruises scattered all over your arms.

You’re only wearing a tank top today—you hadn’t had plans to go anywhere so you had foregone your binder—and neither of those give your shoulders nor arms any of the coverage you’d like them to have. Your bruises and other various training scuff marks have faded at a surprisingly quick rate since you first became Flame active, and the only reason they’re not broken bones is because you’ve been reinforcing—Propagating—your durability with your Cloud Flames. You’re not exactly sure how that works, but Reborn says that’s what’s happening, and you don’t have much of a choice but to believe him.

But for all your healing is quick, it isn’t enough, so you pull your scratchy blanket to your chin and begin to slowly overheat.

“I found the Advil,” she says, shaking the bottle in her hand. “It was in the spice cabinet—don’t ask me how it got there.”

She hands you two pills along with a glass of water. You take them gratefully.

“Where’s Hayato?” you ask, handing the empty glass back.

“He’s cleaning the living room,” Mama says. “I wanted him to help out in the kitchen, but after last time I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Last time?” you echo.

“He has very shaky hands,” Mama says, standing up. “He poured three tablespoons of sugar into Friday night’s dinner instead of one, and he nearly doubled the amount of oil we needed.”

“I didn’t taste anything off.”

“I fixed it, of course,” Mama says. She pulls open the door to your room. “Let me know if you need anything. Rest well, sweetie!”

You wonder if Tsuna’s having fun at Takeshi’s baseball game.

You would have gone, but you really _do_ need a day off to rest, and knowing Reborn, he’ll be testing Takeshi all day right alongside training Tsuna. The mere thought of physical exercise is enough to make you want to cry, so you’re fine right where you are now.

On that happy note, you roll around a little, kicking the blanket up to let some fresh air into your cocoon, and fall back asleep.

*

Tsuna comes home around five in the evening with Takeshi and Reborn in tow. You’re in the living room, having changed into a sweater and some comfy pajama pants, and you and Hayato are engaged in an excruciatingly boring game of war—you’re certain the entire deck of cards has been cycled through at least three times.

As expected, Hayato abandons you in favor of enthusiastically greeting Tsuna, but when he catches sight of Takeshi hanging back near the front door, he puffs up like an angry cat.

“Who is this?” he asks, glaring daggers at Takeshi.

“Yamamoto Takeshi,” Takeshi says, smiling at Hayato like they’re already friends. For all you know, Takeshi could actually think that. “I didn’t know you were friends with the Sawadas. This is cool! It’s almost a party.”

“Calm down,” you say, nudging Hayato slightly before he can blow a gasket over—over improper respect for the honorable Tenth-to-be, or whatever he’s latched onto this time. It’s endearing how enamored he is with Tsuna—and you—but also a little annoying. And just a tad concerning. “He’s cool. You don’t need to vet him.”

Hayato backs down a little after that, but he’s still plenty wary—all throughout dinner he sends Takeshi continued suspicious glances. Takeshi, for the most part, seems not to notice or simply doesn’t care. Hayato probably shouldn’t be acting this way toward someone who is, for now, just a harmless civilian, but he’s Hayato. You can hardly do anything about it. 

The meal itself is otherwise peaceful, for which you cannot be thankful enough. Yesterday Hibari had knocked on the front door just as Mama had finished putting everything out on the table. He’d demanded to fight you but Mama had firmly put her foot down, insisting that he eat dinner with everyone since he was, apparently, “A growing boy, and Takkun’s friend! I don’t know where they’ve been hiding all of you—so many in so few days. Come in, please!”

Hibari had not been impressed, but Nana had stared at him for long enough that maybe he felt awkward just standing in the doorway, because he had come in, inhaled his plate of food in about fifteen seconds flat and used the rest his time to bore a hole in the side of your skull with his glare.

If looks could kill.

Later that evening, you had gotten your ass handed to you even worse than usual. Today’s rest period is the proof of it.

Reborn says you’ll catch up to Hibari, but you’re not so sure. Even with the massive boost in power the Dying Will bullet gives you, the only real hit you’ve ever gotten was when you broke his arm Thursday afternoon—and you get the feeling he let you have that.

Reborn _also_ says it will become easier to control your Flames the more you’re hit with the Dying Will bullet, the more you become used to having Flames in the first place, but as with his assessment that you could come anywhere close to being on Hibari’s level, you find yourself unable to believe him.

So far, though, the routine seems to be:

1\. Get hit by bullet.

2\. Freak out.

3\. Set yourself on fire.

4\. ?????

5\. Loss.

You have to tell yourself it’s only been three days, and that’s not enough time to measure progress in any sort of meaningful way, but one of your worst habits is that you’re overly critical of yourself. You always hold yourself to a higher standard than you expect the people around you to meet. You’re impatient with yourself, and it makes you frustrated and sometimes even angry.

It’s only been three days. It’s already been three days.

You can only imagine how bad it would be if you had to train with a Flame active Hibari, but that train of thought promises to lead nowhere good, so with great difficulty, you drop it.

“Excuse me,” you say, picking your plate up and taking it to the kitchen.

As you’re putting it in the sink, you take a couple of steadying breaths. _In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four._

On the third repetition, you feel a tug on the leg of your pants. It startles you so bad you nearly jump, and you have to hold yourself back from kicking out at whatever just touched you when you realize it had been Reborn.

“Coffee,” Reborn says, matter-of-factly.

“Y-yeah, sure,” you say, moving over to the pantry and grabbing a bag of coffee beans from inside. Wait. You glance at the clock. “No offense, Reborn-sensei, but it’s six in the evening. I’m pretty sure you do not need coffee right now.”

He gives you a blank stare. You look into his eyes and see the Void. The Void begins to whisper to you, and if you concentrate hard enough, something at the back of your mind tells you it can see you and it knows who you are. You are powerless against it. It draws you in . . .

“Jesus, that’s terrifying. Okay, okay, I’m on it,” you mutter, scooping some beans into the coffee grinder and turning it on. The loud sound fills the kitchen, amplified by the tile backsplash. It used to make you flinch, but you’re used to it now. Reborn teaches horrible habits—thanks to him, you can’t get through mornings without coffee anymore. You’re tempted to drink some now, but you’d be hyper-focused for the rest of the night and that _never_ leads to anything good. “Ice?”

“What kind of question is that? It’s freezing outside,” Reborn says, and then after a beat, “Yeah. Ice.”

You’re careful not to let him see your smile. He probably knows, but it’s the thought that counts. You aren’t bold enough to openly express humor at his expense.

He hops up on the counter as soon as you pour the coffee over the ice in the mug. There’s some left over, but you bravely and heroically do not drink it. Reborn will probably want it after he finishes his off.

As you’re heading out the kitchen and beginning to climb the stairs, Reborn calls after you, “Remember to finish your math homework. Nothing gets past me.”

Damn. You’d been hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Yes, Reborn-sensei.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter ended up a lot longer than i thought it would. yay??? also the more i write for this fic the more i realize i have absolutely no idea what's going on, but it's fun so i'm just going with it. yay.... 2! and ive realized i cant stop writing takahisa getting hugs. i just have to have them get hugged by like everyone.
> 
> also thank you to cass for beta reading this chapter ur the best

On Tuesday, Reborn pulls you aside after school—during your training hour at the school gymnasium, which is only possible because of Hibari pulling some strings—to let you know his colleague isn’t arriving for another couple of weeks.

“Thank your lucky stars, or whatever,” Reborn says. “But when she does eventually get here, her test will be harder than it would have been. You’ve got more time to prepare—let’s put it to good use.”

“Okay,” you say, scuffing your shoe against the ground and looking towards where Tsuna is practicing his Flame-enhanced kicks with Hayato. Reborn had mentioned something about inviting Takeshi to these, but he’s got practice today. And this is just your opinion, but if all this mafia stuff picks up the pace even a little, you might fall over and pass away on the spot from sheer stress. “But how? So far I feel like I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re making progress,” Reborn says. “You’ve been hurting less after using Dying Will mode, haven’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not getting _stronger_ ,” you complain.

“Aren’t you?” Reborn asks, tone of voice completely unimpressed. “Your body is becoming acclimated to the use of your Flames as a result of your physical training and my Dying Will bullets. It’s only a matter of time before you’re able to actively control them. I see no problem.”

“I mean—I guess,” you say, feeling helpless as you protest. Reborn isn’t your therapist, he’s your slightly murderous home tutor. What are you doing, telling him all this? “I just feel like I’m falling behind. How can I possibly do enough to protect Tsuna when I can’t even keep up with him during training?”

“I didn’t think it was possible, but you expect more out of yourself than even _I_ do,” Reborn says. You cast around for some excuse to give him, something that’s not _I’ve seen the future and the future is shit, and I really don’t want to let that happen,_ but you don’t get the chance to settle on anything before Reborn shakes his head and laughs. “Clouds. They’re all like this. Kid, it’s been a month since I got here. No one’s expecting you to be a prodigy, even if you’re Primo’s descendant.”

“Tsuna can use his Flames without the bullet,” you say. “So can Hayato.”

“Tsuna’s not you, and Hayato was raised around Flame-actives,” Reborn counters. “It can be harder for Clouds to master their Flames because most of them are used to only fighting to negate an immediate, pressing threat on their territory. It’s difficult to unlearn that response, but that’s why I’m here.”

“Y-yeah,” you say. “I—yeah.”

“There’s nothing wrong with relying on the Dying Will bullet for now,” he says. “Why are you so caught up on this?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I don’t—it’s just—you’re not always going to be around, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Reborn agrees. “But you’re talking years down the line, at least. By the time I’m through with you all, I can guarantee you’ll be able to use your Flames without needing to enter Dying Will mode. You will be more than capable of protecting your people. So quit dwelling. It’s annoying.”

“But I’m—” _Impatient. Demanding. Frustrated. Not good enough._ You cut yourself off and shake your head. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Reborn says, smiling smugly. “It’s good to want to push for excellency, but don’t try to make yourself achieve the impossible.”

“Wow,” you say, huffing out an incredulous laugh. “I can’t believe you’re actually a good teacher deep down in there, Reborn-sensei. Giving me pep-talks and everything. What’s it gonna be next, a power-up speech in my time of need?”

“Your head on a platter, if you keep that up,” Reborn warns. You mime zipping your lips, but you’re still grinning. “Don’t get me wrong. It’d be troublesome if you couldn’t improve because you’re constantly criticizing your own performance. Leave that part to me. I’m the only one who knows what to look for, anyway.”

He orders you back out into the main part of the gym and promptly shoots you with a Dying Will bullet; from there, the rest of your allotted hour is spent trying to dodge the combined forces of Tsuna and Hayato. When you can’t dodge, you’re blocking, and Reborn keeps a careful eye on all three of you, calling out your mistakes, shouting ways you can do better, making sure the three of you don’t become too energetic and accidentally destroy half the building.

Maybe you can do this. If Reborn is sure. If the World’s Greatest Hitman says you have time to improve, you don’t see yourself having any choice but to believe him.

The exercise wears you out, pushes you until you’re too exhausted to think about your anxiety any more. All of your attention is occupied by the ache in your muscles, the sweat rolling down the side of your face, the rhythm of your breathing as you gasp for air.

After training is over, the three of you and Reborn wait in the bleachers while Takeshi’s baseball practice concludes. You’re all going over to his house today—he’d said his dad wanted to meet you. You don’t remember much of Yamamoto Tsuyoshi beyond that he taught Takeshi the Shigure Soen Ryu, but you already like him, because seeing him today means one less thrashing from Hibari.

“Takkun?”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning to Tsuna.

“Are you okay? Reborn-sensei was talking to you for kind of a long time before. Did you get in trouble?” he asks, leaning in and speaking quietly so Hayato can’t hear.

“No. It’s sweet that you worry, though,” you say. You ruffle his hair. He bats your hand away, but there’s no missing his embarrassed smile. “You know how you had to fight Hayato?”

“Well, yeah. How could I forget?” he says.

“And he said I have to fight someone too,” you continue. Tsuna’s eyes widen in realization, but you shake your head. “No, no, I’m not going to fight her really soon. Reborn-sensei actually said she’s going to be delayed a few weeks, so I have to do even _more_ extra training to make up for it.”

Tsuna winces in sympathy. “Man, he’s really giving it to you.”

“It’s because he cares,” you say, shrugging.

Your conversation slowly veers off-topic; by the time Takeshi has joined you all on the bleachers, you, Tsuna, and Hayato are involved in a heated three-way argument over which flavor of gummy bear is the best. It’s obviously green—the actual name of the flavor eludes you, but this is a hill you’ll die on. Tsuna likes the pineapple ones, and Hayato likes strawberry.

“What are you guys talking about?” Takeshi asks, coming up next to you.

“None of your business,” Hayato says, sticking his tongue out childishly.

“White Haribo bears are the best and these two have horrible taste,” Tsuna translates.

“I resent that,” you say. “What’s your favorite, Yamamoto-kun?”

“Uh, orange? Those are good, but I kind of like them all,” Takeshi says. When the three of you simultaneously give him scandalized looks, he tilts his head in confusion. “What?”

“Orange,” Hayato scoffs. “Of course you would like the worst flavor.”

“It’s not so bad,” Takeshi says. “Liking something everyone else hates just means I get more.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Hayato,” Reborn cuts in. “I’ve seen you get into a lot of stupid arguments, but this has to take the cake. Drop it.”

Hayato scowls, and crosses his arms in the Hayato equivalent of a pout, but he doesn’t say anything else on the topic.

Since Takeshi and Hayato have both silently accepted that you’re Tsuna’s right hand, their animosity toward each other has been funnelled into a slew of smaller, pettier grievances. It can be irritating, especially when Hayato’s in a shit mood and Takeshi provokes him in that innocent, well-meaning way he seems to have on lock, but at the same time, the familiarity of their dynamic with each other comforts you.

The walk to Takeshi’s house is calm and peaceful. Your phone is dead since you forgot to charge it and you’re too embarrassed to ask anyone else for the time, but you think it’s around four thirty. The sunlight turns pale and watery as the early evening begins to set in; December afternoons are always like this.

At some point, Reborn takes the lead. It’s wholly unsurprising he knows where Takeshi lives—so much so that no one even mentions it.

When TakeSushi comes into view and Reborn walks right up to the building, Tsuna says, “Wait—you live here? Mama says this is the best place to get sushi in Namimori!”

Takeshi laughs, face tinged pink. “Haha, really? I’ll tell Dad you said so. Yeah, I live here. Dad said he always wanted to open a restaurant, and he and my mom got the place together a little before they had me.”

He enters first, calling out, “I’m home!”

“Oh, Takeshi-kun!” Tsuyoshi says, poking his head out from a back room to greet Takeshi. “Welcome home! Those must be your friends. Go on upstairs, all of you!”

There isn’t anyone in the restaurant, and you look questioningly toward Takeshi.

“Dad likes to close up early on Tuesdays,” he explains. “Baseball practice doesn’t run as long, and he likes to hang out with me in the evening. He usually doesn’t get a lot of business on Tuesdays, so it kind of works out.”

It’s about half an hour before Tsuyoshi comes upstairs. He checks in on all of you, asking if you need snacks while studying and just generally being a doting parent. At one point during his ramble he thanks you for taking care of his son, and it’s a little more serious than you’d expect, which clues you in that Tsuyoshi knows more about Takeshi’s mental state than you’d thought.

It makes you so happy, how clearly Tsuyoshi loves Takeshi. Tsuyoshi looks at his son like he’s his entire world. It’s plain for everyone in the room to see just how treasured Takeshi is. It brings forth a complicated emotion inside you—jealousy, maybe, for what you could’ve had before you were Takahisa, and also a longing to be home, to see Mama and hug her and tell her how thankful you are for her.

Around six-o’-clock, you and Hayato and Tsuna pack up your homework and Reborn takes you home. You know Namimori fairly well, but because you don’t eat out often—Mama’s cooking is way better than what most restaurants around here can offer—you aren’t very familiar with a select few districts of the town.

It doesn’t take long to get home. When you open the door, you can hear Mama setting out ingredients in the kitchen.

That’s right. You were going to help her today. You’d never really liked cooking before you were Takahisa, but you feel bad that Mama does it every day by herself. Her workload has only increased since Hayato moved in—you still can’t quite believe Mama’s willingness to let him stay, even though it’s already been weeks—and the recipes she knows are definitely worth learning.

It’s unbelievable, how much she has memorized. Except for when she tries out something new, you never see her with a recipe book, or anything but what she’s got in her head. Furthermore, most of what she knows to cook, you can’t get on the Internet—there are changes and tweaks she’s made that are uniquely hers. It wouldn’t be the same if it wasn’t Mama’s cooking.

She makes it look like an art; watching her move, watching her command the kitchen like it’s her kingdom, you think you might even come to like cooking.

As soon as you’re past the door, you immediately make a beeline for Mama, throwing your arms around her the moment you see her.

“Hi, Mama,” you say, voice muffled by the fabric of her shirt.

She pats your head gently. “Welcome home, Takkun. Did you have fun at Yamamoto-kun’s house?”

“Yeah,” you say, wincing when the distinct sound of Tsuna tripping on his way up the stairs reaches your ears. “His dad is really nice. He owns TakeSushi.”

“I thought I recognized the surname!” Mama says, while you disentangle yourself from her and start toward the stairs to see if Tsuna’s okay. “Go wash up—we’ll start cooking as soon as you’re ready. It’s a good thing you got home when you did! I nearly started making it without you.”

“Okay!” you call back, already looking forward to cooking with her. When you reach Tsuna, he and Hayato are staring intently at the fourth step of the stair, both wearing nearly identical frowns on their faces—nearly, because Tsuna’s face is glittery. “Uh, Tsu-kun? What’s up?”

“He booby-trapped the stairs. I fell.”

“Ah,” you say.

“And now we’re too scared to go up because we don’t know what else is there,” Tsuna says.

“I can see at least two tripwires from here, and there’s something weird near the top,” you say. “Well. Can’t go around it, can’t go over it. The only way’s through. Here goes nothing.”

*

“Can you get the door?” Tsuna asks.

“Yeah, wait a second, I think my key’s at the bottom of my bag,” you say. You rummage around in your schoolbag, wincing when your hand brushes past a splotch of mud. English workbook, math workbook, math textbook, old gum wrapper—key. “There we go.”

You, Takeshi, Hayato, and Tsuna all stumble through the front door of your house. The four of you—five including Reborn, but seeing as he only refereed, he doesn’t count—are sweaty and dirty and exhausted, courtesy of today’s training, which had taken place in the forest and hills surrounding Namimori. It’d rained yesterday, so anything done out there had been bound to become very messy, very quickly.

You’d tried to protest going for those exact reasons, but Reborn had been resolute. A little bad weather would be no obstacle for Tsuna’s future Rain Guardian, even if Takeshi himself is unaware of his ongoing evaluation. You say unaware because Reborn had just straight-up admitted he’s in the mafia. He might not be breaking Omertà, but he sure is toeing the line.

Fortunately, Takeshi, true to your memory, had immediately accepted it as a role-play game. You’re not sure what’s worse—the prospect of Takeshi actually believing Reborn, or the fact that he now thinks you regularly LARP the mafia.

“Mama, we’re home!” you shout. “Yamamoto-kun’s here too!”

“Welcome home!” she greets. It sounds like she’s in the kitchen. You should probably help her out, and you would, but you’re completely tired out. You’re not sure you have the concentration to even measure things right now, let alone watch over an entire meal.

“Yamamoto-kun, I think your clothes are still here from last time you slept over,” you say, stopping halfway up the stairs and turning around to address the rest of the group—minus Reborn, who has disappeared off to who-knows-where. “We _really_ need showers, because Mama will kill us if we get dirt and—Tsuna, please tell me that isn’t blood.”

“It’s not blood,” he says, but his expression is too carefully blank for it to be anything but a lie.

“Go soak your shirt,” you order tiredly. “I left the powder in the downstairs bathroom. My bucket is in there too. I’ll grab some fresh clothes for you.”

“‘Kay,” he says, heading toward the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to clean up whatever you’re bleeding from!” you call after him.

“That’s mine, actually,” Hayato says sheepishly, raising his arm to let you get a view of his truly impressive scraped elbow. “I, um, bled on him.”

You look closer. There’s definitely dirt in there, along with bits of twigs and unidentifiable herbs. God, that’s gotta sting.

“Okay. Let’s get that taken care of,” you say. “Yamamoto-kun, go ahead and wash up first while I take care of this.”

There’s an extra first-aid kit stashed under your bed. You had made the trip to the store and bought it—from your own funds, regretfully—as soon as it had become apparent that scrapes, bruises, and sometimes even burns, thanks to Tsuna’s tendency to overheat while using his Flames, would become the new normal.

While Takeshi quickly grabs his clothes and makes for the bathroom across the hall, you sit Hayato down on the floor and pop the first-aid kit open, ignoring his insistence to do it alone. You gently clean the scrape with a disinfectant cloth, fighting back a smile as Hayato complains about the pain.

“I’ve literally seen you take one of Tsuna’s kicks without a single word,” you say. You lift his elbow a bit so you can clean out the last few bits of stubborn dirt clinging to his raw skin. “How is this worse?”

“That—that’s different!” Hayato says. “It’s a great privilege to be able to help Tsuna refine his new fighting techniques!”

“You had mild burns all over the right side of your face,” you say. “Nothing honorable about looking like a human-lobster hybrid.”

Hayato turns pink and looks away while you apply an antibiotic cream and put a band-aid on his elbow. It’ll be a little awkward since he’ll be moving around all the time, and these honestly aren’t the best band-aids out there, but if it comes down to it, he can just get a new one.

As thanks for taking care of him, Hayato forces you to let him clean everything up. You try to tell him it’s unnecessary, that you were just doing your bit as his friend, but he doesn’t budge, so you acquiesce. As he works on packing away the various wrappers and trash, you find some clothes for Tsuna. You rummage around in his dresser and fish out a hoodie with a cat face printed onto the pocket, and then a pair of pink pajama pants you’re at least seventy percent certain are yours.

You’re just about to open the door and head downstairs when something slams against the window.

You turn around to see Hayato already crossing the room, pushing the curtains to the side and throwing the window open. He leans out of it until you’re worried enough for his balance that you hurry up to grab him before he topples forward into the front yard.

“There’s . . . a cow,” he says.

“That explains nothing,” you say, until you take a look for yourself to see that there is indeed a cow sprawled out on the walkway— _wait._ “Oh my god, that’s not a cow.”

“What?” Hayato asks, pulling himself back inside and shutting the window. He’s obviously confused, which is fair, but right now explaining shit to Hayato is at the bottom of your current list of priorities.

“That’s a _human child,_ ” you say, dashing out of the room and down the stairs like someone lit you on fire. Hayato is quick to follow. You stop for long enough to chuck Tsuna’s bundled clothes at the bathroom door, and then you’re outside, crouching by the baby’s—Lambo’s—side. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“The . . . ”

“The?” you ask. Did he hit his head falling down? Does he—does he have a concussion? Oh no. You don’t want to have to explain to Mama why there’s a possibly concussed child in the front yard.

“The Great Lambo is too strong to be hurt from such a small fall!” Lambo says, pushing himself to his feet. “I used my amazing powers to climb the tree! I wanted to sneak into the window, but it was closed, and I hit my head.”

Poor kid. He says it doesn’t hurt, but he’s got a big red splotch on his forehead that’ll almost certainly turn into a welt before the day’s out. He’s shivering, too—the thin cow-print onesie he’s wearing is a bad fit for the early December temperatures.

“Takahisa, who’s this kid?” Hayato asks. He sounds out of breath from running after you.

“Why do you think I know that?” you say.

“My name is Lambo! Call me Lambo-sama!” Lambo says, puffing his chest out and putting on a self-important expression. “Where’s Reborn? I’m looking for him!”

“How do you know _Reborn?_ ” Hayato asks, then pales as a possibility comes to him. “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me you’re like him.”

“Don’t worry. He’s not,” Reborn pipes up, from directly behind you.

You don’t know when he got there, but his sudden appearance is enough for your spine to stiffen in—fear? Surprise? With Reborn, it’s always one or the other. It takes actual effort for you to relax.

Lambo is a completely different story. As soon as he sets eyes on Reborn, it’s like a switch is flipped. He scrambles to his feet, and you watch as he lifts a hand to his head, sticks it in his mess of curls, and pulls a grenade out.

You hadn’t thought that was even possible. You take so long just staring in disbelief it doesn’t register to you that Lambo is pulling the pin on an _actual grenade_ and throwing it, yelling, “DIE, REBORN!” until the hitman in question has already stepped in and swatted it back toward Lambo.

The resulting explosion cracks the concrete walkway and scorches the short grass growing in the yard. It’s so loud it hurts your ears a little. It’s kind of a wonder no one has called the cops on the Sawada residence, considering just how often shit like this happens.

“What is wrong with you!?” you cry, watching helplessly as Lambo is sent tumbling backwards from the force of the detonation. You don’t know whether to be thankful or horrified that Lambo seems mostly unharmed, if a bit singed around the edges. “You just tossed a grenade at a little kid!”

“He threw it first,” Reborn says, like that’s perfectly normal. You can’t even justify that with a response, it’s so far out of the realm of reason and common sense.

“Lambo-kun,” you say instead, approaching him slowly. “are you okay?”

“I’m f-fine,” Lambo says shakily, slowly getting to his feet. “It hurts, but this won’t stop me! I have to complete my mission!”

You would sobe kicking Reborn’s shit in at this exact moment, if you weren’t so sure he would exact swift vengeance upon you for punting him across the yard like some kind of evil, fucked-up little football.

“Mission?” Hayato asks derisively, just as Lambo whips out another grenade. “Hey, watch it!”

This time, rather than sending it back to Lambo, Reborn kicks the grenade up into the air, where, after a few seconds, it explodes into a flaming ball of destruction and rains little bits of metal down onto the front yard.

You close your eyes. Breathe in. Out. In. Out. You can’t have an anxiety attack over this, not where everyone’s watching, not where Lambo can see you. If you cry, he’ll cry, and then everyone will cry and it’ll be a huge awful mess.

“Takkun?”

Oh, crap.

“Hi, mom,” you say, turning around to watch her make her way towards you, carefully avoiding the various shrapnel littering the ground.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “Is everyone all right out here?”

“A—science! Thing! It happened!” Hayato says. You give him a look and he quickly realizes what he’s said makes absolutely no sense. “Science . . . science class. Takahisa and I were working on a project. It went wrong.”

“Okay,” Mama says, although she looks like she doesn’t believe a word of it. She gives the front yard an assessing gaze. “So. Am I right to assume you two will be out here cleaning this up until every last bit of it is gone? And that you two won’t be attempting something so dangerous again?”

“Yes,” you and Hayato chorus.

“I’ll pay for the damages to your yard,” Reborn says. “It was partly my fault.”

“Reborn’s fault!” Lambo echoes, pointing a finger at the hitman. “Die, meanie!”

Nana’s eyes flicker over to Lambo. She smiles briefly, looks away, and then does an impressive double take when his presence finally sinks in.

“Who—who is this?” she asks, voice high with stress and maybe thinly-contained hysteria. “Why does he look hurt? Takkun?”

“Lambo. The child of someone I know,” Reborn explains, before you get the chance to bungle up a cover story. “He has a habit of dumping his kid on people when he needs to go on a business trip, and just so happened to come over at an inconvenient time. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Lambo gets back to where he belongs.”

The explanation seems to calm Mama down a bit, but the creases between her eyebrows and the subtle tensing of her shoulders suggest she’s not really all that okay with this.

You wish she knew. About the Reborn, about Tsuna, about Vongola in general. You don’t like keeping this from her. It isn’t like telling a white lie, like fibbing a little about when you’re going to do your homework, or if you cleaned your room yet. This is big, and it eats away at you whenever you or Tsuna come home littered with bruises, tired and shaking, and you have to explain, _no, Mama, it’s not bullies, we’re just doing self-defense training. Yes, Mama, we’re okay._

Would it be dangerous if she knew? Tsuna seems to think so. You’re sure she would rather know than be kept in the dark, but then again—before you were Takahisa, you were someone who liked to know a little too much. Sometimes you were glad of it, but other times you wished you’d never even known there was something to find out. By letting her know there’s a secret, you’re essentially forcing her to learn the details of it.

But Nana’s an adult, isn’t she? She’s your Mama. As much as you want to save her the stress, she deserves to at least know there’s something going on, and to decide whether she wants to be told. She gets to make her own decisions. Besides, this world is already different from how you remember it to be, in noticeable ways. There’s a chance Mama knows more about Iemitsu’s line of work than she lets on.

“Why don’t we all come inside, hm?” Mama asks, instead of freaking out like she has every right to do. “Lambo-kun, you must be cold.”

“Okay!” Lambo chirps. “I’m Reborn’s friend.”

“He’s definitely not,” Hayato says, sounding strangled, as Nana claps with delight and leads both him and Reborn into the house.

You nudge Hayato lightly. “Hey, he’s a little kid. Let him have it.”

“He’s a little kid with _grenades,_ ” Hayato protests. “Who we are letting into our house!”

His wording makes you break out into a silly grin. He gives you a weird look, but you shake your head.

“Reborn-sensei won’t let him do any lasting damage,” you say. “He likes Mama too much.”

“More like he doesn’t want to pay to repair the house,” Hayato scoffs. “Come on, let’s just get this over with. I need a shower.”

After Hayato’s declaration—to which you can _seriously_ relate—the two of you begin the long, boring task of cleaning shrapnel.

Some of the grass around the walkway is smoking slightly, and you stomp it all out with practiced efficiency while Hayato goes to fetch two pairs of gloves and a heavy trash bag.

About fifteen minutes into cleanup, Takeshi and Tsuna arrive outside with many questions, none of which you can really answer without giving away more than you should reasonably know.

“Have you asked Reborn-sensei about him?” you ask, kicking at a loose piece of concrete. “The only thing I know is that Lambo-kun wants Reborn-sensei kind of, um, dead.”

Takeshi’s face goes through a series of confused expressions; finally he seems to settle on a sort of baffled acceptance. “Wow, kids these days are really something else, huh?”

“You sound like such a grandpa,” Tsuna says. He turns to you. “Nah, Takkun, we tried asking, but he only said he doesn’t associate with those who rank lower than him. Lambo-kun said he’s Reborn-sensei’s friend, but the story he told sounded kind of . . . uh . . . ”

“Yeah, I get the picture,” you say, after Tsuna tries and fails to come up with words to describe just how bullshit he finds Lambo’s whole _Reborn and I knew each other_ thing. “Is dinner ready?”

“Almost,” Tsuna says. “Mama didn’t know Yamamoto-kun was coming over, and now Lambo-kun’s here, so we’re helping her make extra.”

“Are? Or were?” you say, snorting when Tsuna looks guiltily back toward the house. “Hayato and I will be done really soon. You should get back to helping out.”

“Yeah, I will. But what happened out here?” Tsuna says, surveying the scene around you. “It looks like one of Hayato’s accidents.”

“It can’t be. Gokudera-san’s way worse than this,” Takeshi says, at the exact same time as Hayato says, “I take offense to that, Tsuna! I would never be so careless on your property!”

Takeshi gives Hayato a blank stare. Tsuna looks back and forth between the two of them for a moment or two, then seems to come to the realization that the whole thing is more trouble than it’s worth.

“C’mon, Yamamoto-kun, let’s go help Mama,” he says, gently steering Takeshi away from Hayato, who looks about another word away from exploding with indignation. “I think she wants to get some extra chicken on the stove.”

After the two of them have disappeared back into the house, Hayato turns to you incredulously. “Can you believe that guy?”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Yeah. I think you make it too easy for him.”

“Easy?” Hayato says, scowling and shoving a scrap of metal into the trashbag maybe a tad more violently than is necessary. “I’ll show him easy. I’ll kick his ass into next week! _Easy._ ”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you suggest. “What was it—oh, yeah. Reborn-sensei said we’re playing knockdown tag again. You can take it out on him then. But no violence at home.”

“Then it’s decided,” Hayato says with an air of finality. “Tomorrow, during knockdown tag. It’s on. I’ll teach that bastard not to mess with me.”

*

Lambo falls into a food coma immediately after dinner, so none of you get to really ask why he’s there. You’re tasked with carrying him up the stairs and into your room, since Hayato had vehemently denied each and every request for Lambo to stay with him.

With its newest addition, the room feels stuffed to bursting. Reborn’s hammock is strung up in one corner, you and Tsuna’s beds are on opposite sides of the room, and Lambo is sleeping peacefully tucked into a futon you’d pulled out of the closet. It’s the one Hayato had used during the first few days of his stay at your house, before Mama had bought an actual bed for him.

You’re still not sure where the money came from. It’s good— _more_ than good—that Mama is confident enough about your family’s financial security to be able to spend that much on bedroom furniture and food and clothes for Hayato, but it doesn’t seem characteristic for Iemitsu to shell out for a third kid’s expenses. Or maybe he’s just been sending you more than you’re aware of.

As much as you’d like to know exactly everything about your household finances, it pains you to admit that it’s none of your business.

Yet.

Tsuna says you like money a little too much. You can’t refute that, but it’s still kind of insulting.

“Takahisa,” Reborn says.

You snap to attention. “Yeah?”

He tosses a packet of papers at your head, almost faster than your eye can follow. You just barely manage to catch it.

“Make sure Yamamoto gets this,” he says. “It’s the homework I corrected for him.”

“You’re really dead set on making him join Tsu-kun’s family, huh?” you ask, slowly getting up from your cross-legged position on the bed. “Is he really the best choice?”

“Of course,” Reborn says. “He can already use his Flames, if only at a subconscious level, and he’s got great reflexes. We haven’t see another Rain around here suitable for the position, and I’d hate to fly someone in to take his place. And he’s already friends with Tsunayoshi. Don’t you want him in the family?”

“Of course I do,” you say, mouth moving before your brain can catch up. “I mean—is it fair to him, though?”

“Life isn’t fair,” Reborn says simply.

That rubs you the wrong way. It’s true, mostly, but it feels like an excuse. He didn’t answer your question, and honestly, you’re tired of people telling you life isn’t fair. It had been one of your dad’s favorite phrases, before you were Takahisa. _Life isn’t fair_ feels like something people say so they don’t have to justify the decisions they make for others.

“Yeah. It sure isn’t,” you say.

You hold the packet a little tighter in your hand and leave the room. On your way downstairs, you pass Hayato entering his room. He’s got a spool of wire in one hand and a pair of pliers in the other.

“Is this going to end badly?” you ask, eyeing his tools warily.

“Um. No?” he says.

Good enough. “Hey, as long as you don’t end up trashing your room. Is Yamamoto-kun still here?”

“Yeah, the idiot’s still here. But Nana-san was getting his clothes out of the dryer. You better hurry if you wanna talk to him,” Hayato says. He nods at you, once, and then slips inside his room.

You catch Takeshi halfway out the house.

“Yamamoto-kun!” you say, holding the homework packet out to him. “Here. Reborn-sensei just finished it for you. Make sure you go over it, okay?”

“Oh! Sure,” Takeshi says, taking it from you and stuffing it into his now-clean schoolbag. “Man, that kid’s a smart one. Tell him not to overwork for me. Being a child genius has got to be all kinds of stressful.”

“I will,” you lie.

As funny as it would be to tell Reborn to take it easy, you get the feeling it wouldn’t go over well with him.

“Awesome. See you tomorrow!” Takeshi says, waving as you shut the door.

On the way back to your room, you pass Mama washing the last of the dishes in the kitchen.

“Let me help,” you say, gently nudging her. “I didn’t get to cook dinner with you. This is the least I can do.”

“Thank you,” Mama says, rinsing and drying her hands. “You’re a good kid, Takkun.”

She leans on the counter opposite of you and watches with loosely crossed arms while you wash the dishes. Mama likes to have the radio on while she works, so the occasional dish clink is accompanied by the sounds of tinny pop music.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asks.

“Hm?” you say, staring resolutely at the bubbles washing down the drain.

“About today,” she clarifies.

“You mean Lambo-kun?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says. “Reborn-kun said he’d make sure Lambo-kun got back to his parents, but I said he could stay for a little while. And then, after dinner, he gave me—he gave me adoption forms. He said he could take care of it, like he did for Hayato-kun.”

“Adoption . . . forms,” you say. Damn, Reborn moves fast. And you hadn’t known about Hayato. You assumed whatever he did, he handled it himself; apparently Reborn is more invested in your lives than he lets on.

“What I want to ask is—is Lambo-kun in trouble?” Mama asks. “I don’t . . . you know how I am with kids. I would take in everyone if I could.” She laughs. “Your father always said I was a bleeding heart. But, Takkun, I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m worried.”

You think about Tsuna. About white lies. “I don’t know if I can talk about it. I’m sorry. You don’t—you don’t have to take Lambo-kun in or anything. I don’t know why Reborn-sensei asked that of you.”

“You know I’m going to do it anyway,” Mama says. You nod and add another dish into the drying rack. “I’m sorry you don’t feel you can trust me with this. Just, please. Tell me. Are you safe?”

“Yeah,” you say. It comes out more choked than you’d like.

Mama is too good for you. She’s always had your back, always believed you about Tsuna no matter what the teachers told her. She’d accepted you when you told her you weren’t Chiyohime, and she’d gone through baby books with you and helped you choose your new name. You know it can’t have been easy to raise the both of you, especially without Iemitsu in the picture, but she did it anyway. Mama does everything for you and Tsuna.

You never hear her complain, never hear her angry about it.

The guilt is overwhelming. You want to tell her so bad—the secret’s crawling up your throat, dragging itself into your mouth and onto your tongue. You trap it there. Swallow it back down. If— _when_ you tell Mama, you’ll tell her with Tsuna and Reborn there. She deserves to know the truth in a better way than you can tell it.

That’s the last dish. You set it into the rack and dry your shaking hands.

A few seconds later, Mama wraps her arms around you, warm and steady. You blink back tears. You should tell her. You _need_ to tell her. You’ll talk to Tsuna and Reborn about it—it’ll eat you up if you leave it longer.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I’ll tell you. I promise. Just not now. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Takkun, I’m your mother,” Mama says, tightening her hold on you. “I have to worry. It’s practically in the job description. As long as you’re safe, I’ll trust you.”

You sniffle into her apron.

“I love you,” Mama says firmly, and hums in that way that means she’s smiling. You can’t see her, but you know it. “And I’m always on your side, Takkun. Never ever forget that.”

“I know,” you say, wiping your eyes. “I love you too. I’m sorry for keeping secrets.”

“I forgive you,” Mama says. She releases you and pushes you gently toward the entrance of the kitchen. “Go on upstairs now. You probably haven’t gotten your homework done today.”

“All right,” you agree. “Thanks, Mama. I’m really glad you’re my family.”

On the way to your room, you stop outside Hayato’s door, because you can hear some really, _really_ suspicious sounds coming from behind it. Eventually you decide to leave it alone, because chances are high that whatever he’s working on will explode if you break his concentration, and your curiosity isn’t worth it.

The closer you get to your room, the more you can pick up on whatever mess is happening inside it.

You open the door and are immediately assaulted by an earful of Lambo. He’s clinging to your brother like a stubborn barnacle, bashing Tsuna over the head with his tiny firsts.

“Where’s Reborn?” Lambo cries. “You took my target! Tell me where he is!”

“Let go of me, you crazy baby!” Tsuna says, fruitlessly pulling at the back of Lambo’s clothes. You’re pretty sure they’re the child clothes Mama saved from when you and Tsuna were small. When did he even get changed? “Why do you even wanna kill him so bad anyway?”

Lambo, sensing the opportunity to talk about himself, immediately detaches himself from Tsuna and hops up onto the table.

“The Great Lambo has been sent to assassinate Reborn!” Lambo says, bouncing in place. “The boss said I have to stay in Japan until I complete my mission! I’m gonna kill Reborn so I can go home again! He better watch out, gyahahaha!”

It’s nothing you didn’t know, but this time, with Lambo right in front of you, real and tangible and five years old, it hits different. It’s no longer a convenient excuse to introduce Tsuna’s Lightning Guardian. It’s no longer the gateway to funny times and mischievous hijinks.

It’s a family of adults sending a child to murder an impossible enemy. And in the future, he’s going to have to fight for Tsuna. Lambo is going to have to fight _the Varia_ for Tsuna. Lambo, a little kid with an unhealthy fixation on grape candy and who cries at the drop of the hat and desperately seeks the approval of anyone he views as an authority figure.

“Do you really think you can kill Reborn-sensei?” you ask. “I mean, he seems pretty tough.”

“It’s okay!” Lambo says, quick to reassure you. “I’ll stay here and get stronger until I can kill him?”

“No!” Tsuna says. “Don’t kill him!”

“Why?” Lambo asks, tilting his head at Tsuna. “Boss said I have to.”

“Um—uh—but isn’t he your friend?” Tsuna tries. “You shouldn’t kill your friends.”

“Oh, yeah!” Lambo says. “Do you wanna hear how the Great Lambo met Reborn?”

“Sure,” Tsuna says, but his face tells you he’d rather be anywhere else. Not that you blame him. From what you remember, Lambo had been kind of hard to deal with at first—and also, from what Tsuna told you before dinner, he’s heard this entire story already. “How did you meet him?”

Lambo’s explanation goes pretty much the way you remember it. He met Reborn at a bar; he introduced himself to Reborn; Reborn ignored him and “blew bubbles out of his nose,” which Tsuna immediately calls out as Reborn’s obvious sleeping habit.

“Then . . . I’m not really Reborn’s friend?” Lambo asks, bottom lip wobbling dangerously.

Tsuna gives you an oh-shit look. You roll your eyes at him.

“Maybe not. But you could _become_ his friend,” you say. “And wouldn’t it be kind of fun to sleep over here all the time? Who needs bosses, huh? Mama would take care of you.”

Conveniently, you don’t mention the fact that Nana likely already has legal custody of Lambo. How Reborn pulled those strings, and so quickly at that, you have no idea. You’re sure you don’t want to know.

“Mama is nice,” Lambo says consideringly. “She gave me grape candy.”

“She did! So maybe you can stay here and be friends with everyone,” you encourage.

“Hmm. Okay!” Lambo says.

“What’s this?”

Ah, great. If there’s one person who could upend the fragile peace you’ve just made with Lambo, it’s Reborn.

“Hi, Reborn-sensei,” you say. “In the interest of our house not blowing up, can you make friends with Lambo?”

Reborn gives you a look that reads, _if I wasn’t under obligation to tutor you, I would have murdered you at least thirty-seven times by now._

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Reborn says. “Don’t worry about the house—I came upstairs to de-grenade Lambo.”

Following that statement, Reborn sticks his arm into Lambo’s hair up to the elbow and begins the process of pulling out a veritable arsenal of weapons, including but not limited to: sixteen child-sized grenades; a pistol; and the Ten Year Bazooka.

While Reborn stuffs his newly-confiscated contraband into the collection of suitcases he keeps under his hammock, Tsuna turns to you and says, “What. The _fuck._ ”

You agree with his sentiment, but you aren’t so foolish as to say it out loud. In the next second, Reborn has practically teleported behind Tsuna and is now chewing him out for his use of improper language.

Tsuna gives you a long suffering look, like he hadn’t been the one to bring this down on himself, and you flick his nose. “Be more careful next time, Tsu-kun.”

As has been established, the universe hates you, so Reborn immediately starts to lay into you for interrupting him in the middle of a lecture, and then Lambo, seemingly having forgotten everything you’d said about making friends, attempts to attack Reborn with his bare hands.

It ends with you and Tsuna sprawled out on the floor, Lambo bouncing between the two of you demanding playtime and candy, and you’re so exhausted you can barely laugh, but you do it anyway. You laugh and laugh and laugh, until you’re breathless with it and tears have started to run down your cheeks. It’s a huge mess. It’s _your_ huge mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment if you liked the chapter/story!! comments are great and they make me super happy. i read all of em.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively: takahisa attempts to juggle multiple problems at once, met with varying degrees of failure
> 
> tbh i dont think this is my best work or even close to what i could have done, but i just needed the events in this chapter to happen already so i could get to the good ... uh... not good, but slightly more fun to write stuff.

“Tsuna, I think we need to tell Mama what’s going on,” you say. “With the mafia.”

“We can’t!” Tsuna says immediately. He fumbles around, attempting to get his legs into his pants without falling flat on his face. “Why do you even want to?”

Reborn is somewhere outside the room, most likely putting the finishing touches on his daily array of booby-traps. He always promises to deactivate them if you and Tsuna manage to get downstairs within five minutes, but somehow he always either “forgets” or manages to delay you and Tsuna for long enough that you haven’t ever actually gotten down the stairs in the morning without at least one spectacular mishap.

“Because Reborn-sensei gave her fu—uh, freaking adoption papers for Lambo and now she thinks he’s in trouble and she thinks we’re in trouble and she’s worried,” you say, shoving your textbooks into your school bag. Last night’s study session had been a little crazy, thanks to Lambo’s inability to leave things the hell alone, which means this morning’s search for all your things has been more like a scavenger hunt than anything else. “Mama doesn’t deserve all that stress.”

“But it’s dangerous!” Tsuna protests. “What if she gets in trouble for knowing?”

“Who’s gonna find out?” you ask, zipping up your bag and starting on Tsuna’s. “And we’re her kids. I think she deserves to know what’s going on with us.”

“No! That’s exactly why she shouldn’t know,” Tsuna says. He flips the collar of his shirt down. “Who’d wanna find out their kids are gonna be in the mafia?”

“She knows something’s going on,” you say stubbornly. “It’d be better to tell her than to leave her alone with only a half-truth.”

You’d told Mama you were safe last night, but that won’t even be true in a couple of—months, maybe? You don’t remember very well how long Tsuna had to adjust before things started to snowball. Had he even gotten the chance to enter his second year of middle school before the entire thing with Mukuro had happened? You don’t know. It’s terrifying.

“And anyway, I think she’s probably been kept in the dark for longer than we’ve been alive,” you say. “Obviously Papa has something to do with this.”

It makes your skin crawl to call him that. The only thing he ever did to deserve that title is helping to bring Tsuna into the world. Anything else he could have done has been negated by bringing Timoteo over to seal Tsuna’s Flames.

“Papa? Why?” Tsuna asks. “I mean, he’s kind of awful, but all he does is mine for oil.”

“Tsu-kun, man, I love you, but please think about this for even one second,” you say tiredly. You really do adore your brother, and you recognize his occasional inability to put two and two together is probably a result of the seal—the one he’s wearing down day by day, just like you’d hoped—but it’s still frustrating as all hell. “Reborn said we’re descendants of the first Vongola boss, right?”

“Right. Do you think Mama is a part of that lineage?” you ask.

“What— _no,_ ” Tsuna says, staring at you like the idea is absurd.

“Which means Papa has to have been Primo’s descendant,” you say, counting victory when Tsuna’s eyes light up in realization.

“Well . . . he might not know anything either,” Tsuna says hesitantly. He doesn’t even look like he believes it.

You’re honestly not sure how many of the deductions you’re making are reasonable for someone who’s only supposed to have as much knowledge as you are, but this is so much more important than that. It’s not only for the guilt burning inside of you, for keeping the secret—it’s for Mama’s right to know, because you’re her children. That she had accepted your lackluster explanation last night only cements it within your mind: she would do anything for you, and it wouldn’t be the least bit fair to her not to return the favor.

“I think he knows more than he lets on. He has to,” you say. “Has anything he’s _ever_ said about his job made the least bit of sense to you?”

“No—but—I just thought he was an idiot, okay!?” Tsuna says, throwing his hands up. “I don’t want to think about him keeping secrets like that from Mama. He—he’s better than that.”

It’s clear Tsuna still has some lingering attachment for Iemitsu. You can’t fault him for that, but it makes you angry that Iemitsu, who’s done nothing to deserve Tsuna’s love—and in fact seems to be actively working towards the opposite—could ever be considered a worthy father figure.

And Nana loves him too. It’s obvious in the way she talks about him, the way she carefully dusts the picture frames lining the shelves in the living room each week.

Her favorite is the one of her and Iemitsu at the wedding. He’s spinning her around by the waist, and she’s flushed bright red with laughter, and maybe alcohol too. Her head is thrown back and her hair is messy and her cheeks are shining with sweat. Every single guest in the background of that photograph is looking right at the two of them, like there’s nothing more important in the world. You wonder where all those people are now; you wonder if Iemitsu ever told Nana he would always be there for her.

“Maybe,” you allow, when Tsuna begins to look at you oddly for your silence. “But we should still tell her.”

“I mean . . . I guess,” Tsuna says, staring at the door of your room with a lost expression on his face. “I don’t even know where to start, though. Would Reborn-sensei even want to, though?”

“He never said we couldn’t,” you say. “We just need to ask him.”

“Yeah,” Tsuna snorts. “Like that’s easy.”

You hand Tsuna’s bag to him and shoulder your own. Breakfast should be on the table by now, and you know Mama likes it when people eat her food fresh.

You and Tsuna have taken way longer than five minutes to get ready, which means the stairs are absolutely riddled with booby traps. Reborn has upgraded from foam balls to actual baseballs, and while they don’t pelt you quite as hard as the foam balls had, it still hurts like a bitch.

Today is a Friday, so it’s Tsuna’s cleanup day. You smile smugly as he gets to work rounding up the tens, possibly hundreds, of baseballs all over the hallway floor.

Reborn, Lambo, and Hayato are already at the table, about halfway through their breakfast. Mama had made a late shopping trip last night to buy some grape juice—among other things—for him, and he’s drinking that now, while chattering away to Reborn, who is holding his own conversation with Mama. He occasionally nods toward Lambo, which seems to be enough for the kid.

Hayato had been glaring grumpily at his own food, but as soon as he sees you his expression transforms into a sunny smile.

“Good morning, Mama!” you chirp, waltzing your way into the dining room and plopping down into your chair. This morning’s breakfast is fish—which you had helped Mama prep yesterday—leftover rice, and pickled daikon. You fucking love pickled daikon. “Hi, Lambo-kun and Hayato!”

“No greeting for your dear old sensei?” Reborn asks. “And here I thought you were finally beginning to appreciate me.”

You stick your tongue out at him.

Something about the early morning—about seeing your family gathered around the table like this, eating and laughing and chatting—brings out your inner child. There’s a feeling of safety and warmth in this room that you hadn’t had access to before you were Takahisa and it makes you feel like a little kid again.

“As if,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“What an insolent child,” Reborn says. Judging by the fact that no swift judgement comes down upon you, he’s probably joking.

Lambo finishes eating before you do. After Nana clears his dishes, he bounces over toward you and hops up onto your lap. You’re forced to eat around him, but it’s okay.

Sometime last night, during the play-fight with Tsuna that had devolved into a wrestling match, Lambo had declared you as his favorite. Later that night after everything had wound down, he’d fallen asleep curled up in your bed. It had been a pain to fit yourself around him, and your back has a nasty little crick in it that you haven’t been able to get rid of, but it had been worth it.

His family doesn’t want him? Fine. He’s yours now.

“Look!” he says excitedly, holding up a grape candy. “Mama gave it to me!”

“Mama is so nice to you,” you say, gently patting his head. “Did you say thank you? It’s important to say thank you when people make you happy, so they know they did something right.”

Lambo looks troubled for a moment, but quickly turns toward Mama and says, “Thanks for the candy! This is my favorite!”

“Of course, Lambo-kun,” Mama says, smiling at him.

“Good job,” you say. He beams at you, and a little sunshine-spot of warmth flickers to life inside your chest. He’s such a good kid. You can’t imagine ever wanting to send him away. “I’m proud of you for using your manners.”

Tsuna comes into the room a little later and is drawn into a conversation by Hayato, who seems happy that Lambo is no longer the room’s center of attention. The dining room is comfortably full—your people are gathered here with you.

Reborn encourages you and Tsuna to finish your breakfast quickly, unless you want to be late for school. It’s tempting to just stay here and watch everyone, but you and Tsuna don’t exactly have the best track record for showing up on time and you’d really like to try fixing that.

There’s just one problem.

“Lambo wants to go to school!” Lambo cries, clinging to the leg of your pants. He’s such a little terror; it’s adorable. “Lambo wants to go to school with Taka!”

He had started calling you Taka-nii last night. It had been—fine, you guess, at first, but the more he said it the more disconnect you had started to feel with your body until you had calmly asked him to drop the honorifics entirely. It’s a little unconventional, but it works for you, and Lambo had switched over to just calling you Taka without much question or complaint.

“Lambo-kun, you can’t,” you say, carefully prying his fingers off your leg one by one. “Mama said she’s going to enroll you in a kindergarten, so just wait until then, okay?”

“I don’t want to go to kindergarten!” Lambo says, sticking himself back onto you and clinging so hard you think you’ll have fingernail-marks on your legs. “I want Taka!”

“Mama—help!” you cry, shaking your leg fruitlessly.

When Mama comes into the entryway of the house, she has to put her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. You glare at her, but there’s no heat behind the expression.

“Lambo-kun, why don’t you come over here to Mama?” she asks, crouching down and patting both her legs. “Do you want to play?”

Lambo’s grip slackens as he considers her words, and you take the chance to scoop him up and turn him away from you so he can’t find purchase on your limbs.

“Only if Taka plays too!” he says, treading air and waving his fists around angrily.

You hand him over to Mama with a grimace on your face. She chuckles at you and hugs Lambo tight to yourself, watching with a warm expression as you slip your shoes on.

“Bye, Mama! Have a good day! You too, Lambo-kun!” you say, shutting the door behind you.

*

During math, the teacher gives you back last week’s tests. You’re not _unhappy_ about your results, but the red 73 staring back at you doesn’t inspire feelings of confidence or pride either.

Tsuna, though—Tsuna taps on your shoulder excitedly, and shows you a 53.

When Reborn had first arrived to tutor him—and you—you had been the one scoring consistent 50s, and Tsuna had been lucky to see anything in the upper teens. He’d altogether given up on ever achieving a passing grade.

You’re fairly certain Tsuna’s improvement had never been this rapid originally—but this time he’s using his Flames nearly every day. He can’t do anything fancy with them yet, can only light up his hands and feet and hasn’t entered Dying Will mode save for that first time when Reborn got him with the bullet, but it’s clearly doing _something._ Tsuna is reclaiming the awareness he’d lost to the seal.

“Oh my god!” you whisper. “Tsu-kun, that’s amazing!”

He’s smiling so wide his cheeks must hurt. Someone behind the two of you catches a look at his test and begins to whisper to his seatmate about _Dame-Tsuna’s horrible grades,_ but Tsuna is on top of the world right now. He misses the way they chuckle behind their hands.

Hayato doesn’t. He’s quick to send a death-glare toward anyone who participates in the mean-spirited ribbing. Takeshi doesn’t seem to notice, but he’s absorbed with the test in his hands, staring at the crisp piece of paper while his peers attempt to tone their blatant bullying into something a little more subtle, out of fear of Hayato.

“Right!?” Tsuna says, bouncing a little in his seat. “I’m—I’m gonna keep getting better at this! No one can stop me!”

The English test he receives back next period—marked with a 21, covered nearly entirely in bright red ink—brings his mood down, but only by the tiniest bit. It’s still better than he usually scores, especially because you’ve been sneaking in bits of your spare time to help him while Reborn isn’t watching.

Your pronunciation of many English words has rusted and decayed over time—still nothing next to the way you mangle your Vietnamese—but you know enough to prod him in the right direction.

The group, as you’ve taken to calling them inside your head, meets up at lunch. Takeshi seems to have a little trouble giving his hangers-on the slip, but there’s still plenty of time to chat after he’s finally able to join you all on the rooftop. No one comes out here, which is why Tsuna loves it.

He gets the opportunity to show Hayato his test, and if it weren’t for respect for Tsuna’s personal space, Hayato probably would have picked your brother up and spun him around out of sheer joy.

Takeshi, on the other hand, has no such reservations; he doesn’t quite manhandle Tsuna, but he slings an arm around his shoulders and hugs him so hard you swear you can see Tsuna’s eyes bugging out of his head.

“You’re getting way better at this, Sawada-kun!” Takeshi congratulates. “I got a 38, actually! It’s one of my best grades ever. Reborn-sensei really is something.”

“Can’t—gah!—breathe,” Tsuna gasps, trying to wriggle out from Takeshi’s grip.

Takeshi loosens his hold slightly but keeps Tsuna firmly pressed up against his side. He’s shaking slightly, trying to restrain his laughter, and a quick look to the side has you taking in Hayato’s slightly outraged, slightly jealous expression, and sighing fondly.

Tsuna has given up on trying to escape Takeshi and has now resumed eating his lunch, test fluttering down to the floor. It’ll definitely be forgotten if no one does anything, so you pick it up and shove it into your bag. Mama will definitely want to see this.

“Keep your hands off the Tenth!” Hayato says. “I mean—Tsuna!”

“It’s okay, Hayato,” Tsuna says embarrassedly. It looks a little difficult to eat, but he manages. “I, um, I don’t get to hug people a lot.”

“Then I should be the one providing—” Hayato’s face screws up, as though he can’t physically say it. “I mean . . . that is to say . . . ”

The rest of the lunch break is spent with Hayato struggling more and more over how to figure out what to say, and Takeshi rubbing it in Hayato’s face that he’s the one who gets to hug Tsuna.

It doesn’t end with a fistfight, and that’s good enough for you.

From there, the day is mostly routine: go back to class, be bored in class, get out of school, follow Reborn to the abandoned factory some twelve blocks away from your house, and get your shit kicked in by Hibari.

“Why do we do this in a different place every time?” you ask Reborn, while Hibari’s pulling out his tonfa.

“So you can become used to varied environments,” Reborn says. “For example, what’s something here you could use to your advantage?”

“I could use anything I find lying on the ground as a weapon. It’s a double-edged sword though, because there’s a lot of debris for me to trip over,” you guess, and Reborn nods, prompting you to continue. “And I could use the buildings as shelter, but they seem unstable, so I would have to be careful about actually fighting inside them.”

“Very good,” Reborn says, clicking the safety off his gun and shooting you in the forehead. “I don’t expect you to put any of that into practice, but maybe you’ll surprise me.”

You die. You come back to life. It never feels any less painful each time you enter Dying Will mode, and some days it surprises you that you don’t come home covered head-to-toe in second-degree burns. Also, the more you train with Hibari, the clearer it is that he’d been holding back in your early spars. Reborn says you’re improving day by day, but all that means is Hibari adjusts himself to match your skill level.

You bring your arms up to block his first strike, and then you’re forced to twist out of the way when his leg snaps up to kick you in the side.

Hibari likes to keep you on the defensive. His blows are quick, ruthless and nearly fluid in how he can adapt to your movements and keep it coming. As such, you’re out of breath almost within the first five minutes, and it’s difficult to find an opportunity to hit him back.

It takes what feels like an eternity before he finally slips up—he slips, just barely, on a loose patch of gravel and within the second it takes for him to right himself, your foot slams into his ribs and sends him skidding back a couple of feet.

He pummels you to within an inch of your life for that, but it’s so fucking worth it.

As usual, he leaves you lying on the ground, red-faced with exhaustion and panting for breath. He leaves without a word, but you don’t care. You had _hit him._

It fills you with a heady sense of pride that doesn’t dissipate until you’re well past the threshold of your house, collapsing back into your bed and trying to convince yourself not to fall asleep on the spot.

Lambo had followed you up the stairs like a lost puppy, and he hops up into the bed with you, tugging on your hair.

“Play with me!” he demands.

“Jeez, Lambo-kun, we’ve known each other for, like, a day,” you say, covering your eyes with your arm. “Can you wait five minutes? I need to catch my breath. And let go of my hair, that hurts.”

You can’t rest for long. You have a lot of homework today and you’re going to have to go downstairs soon to help with dinner, and also to make sure Takeshi and Hayato haven’t given Mama stress-induced hypertension from all their bickering.

You have no idea where Tsuna and Reborn have disappeared to, and it’s perhaps that which worries you the most. You haven’t seen them since you got home, and Hayato had been too absorbed in arguing with Takeshi to have paid attention to where they went.

It’s sweet that he trusts Reborn to look after your brother and not get him in trouble, but that just means it falls to you to constantly doubt Reborn’s supposed good intentions.

Lambo will probably try to murder Reborn on sight, whenever he comes back with Tsuna. You’re expecting that “don’t kill your friends” is a lesson which will take a little longer to sink in than you’d prefer.

“The Great Lambo is sorry!” he says, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt instead. “Now play! Play!”

“Ugh . . . fine,” you say, getting up despite your shaking arms and legs. Lambo hitches along for the ride, clutching to the back of your shirt as you move toward the hallway. You unconsciously adjust him so that you’re giving him a proper piggyback ride. “So, what does the Great Lambo want to play?”

“Hide-and-seek!” he says cheerfully, unknowingly setting off your fight-or-flight instinct.

 _It’s not Reborn’s hide-and-seek, it’s not Reborn’s hide-and-seek, it’s not Reborn’s hide-and-seek,_ you tell yourself, chanting it inside your head like that’ll make it come true.

“With just two people?” you ask, carefully descending the stairs so you don’t lose your balance. “Lambo, do you know how to play hide-and-seek?”

“Nope! But Mama told me it was a fun game,” he says brightly. “I can make the rules, right?”

Did Lambo ever get the opportunity to just be a kid? Hide-and-seek is such universal experience, and Lambo had to be told of its existence by Mama. You really don’t want to ask Lambo what kinds of games he knows and find out they’re all badly disguised hitman training.

“No, you can’t. Hide-and-seek already has rules,” you say tiredly, plopping Lambo down onto the couch and calling out for Takeshi and Hayato. “Hayato! Yamamoto-kun!”

The two file into the living room from the general direction of the kitchen. “You called?” Hayato asks, looking eager to please.

“Yeah. Do you guys have time to help me play hide-and-seek with Lambo?” you ask. “He wanted to, but two people isn’t enough.”

Hayato’s expression sours at the mention of Lambo. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to when he sighs and says, “Yeah. Sure. Got nothing better to do anyway.”

“I’m up for it!” Takeshi says.

“Okay, awesome,” you say. “Four people is really good. So, Lambo-kun, in hide-and-seek there’s a seeker and hiders. The seeker has to count somewhere, and the hiders have to go find a place to hide. After the seeker is done counting, they have to go find whoever’s hidden. If they find everyone, they win, and the first person found has the become the new seeker. You should practice hiding first, okay?”

“Okay,” Lambo agrees. “We’re hiding together!”

. . . Yeah, there’s no way you’re going to win today.

“We’ll be a team,” you say, smiling when Lambo claps his hands in excitement. You address Takeshi and Hayato. “You guys do, uh, jan-ken. Whoever wins is it. Also—Mama and Hayato’s bedroom are off-limits, and no one is allowed to go outside. Everything else goes.”

Hayato and Takeshi proceed to engage in the most vicious match of rock-paper-scissors you’ve ever seen. Takeshi wins, and begins his countdown while you and Lambo find someplace to hide.

He doesn’t know the house very well yet, having traversed mainly the living room, dining room, and your bedroom, so you take it upon yourself to show him the best hiding places. Hayato immediately makes a beeline for the laundry room, most likely to stuff himself behind the washing machine and pray Takeshi doesn’t think to check there. You frown. That’s one of the best places, and there probably would have been enough space for both you and Lambo to hide there without much cramping.

Fortunately, the only hide-and-seek Takeshi’s ever played with you has been out in the forest, so— _hopefully_ —he’ll be at a slight disadvantage herre.

You gesture for Lambo to follow you to the spare bedroom on the first floor. The bed here is Western-style, like the rest of the house, and the blanket is big enough that it hangs over the edge of the bed and obscures whatever’s under it. You’re . . . reasonably sure there aren’t any venomous spiders or anything hiding under there, but you flick on the lights and lift the flap of blanket and give it a cursory glance anyways, just to be certain.

The coast appears to be clear, so you crawl under the bed and a giggling Lambo follows you.

“Taka is so smart!” Lambo whispers, once the edge of the blanket has fallen back down and plunged the two of you into relative darkness. “I would never have thought about this!”

“I’m a good hider,” you say, smiling. “Now hush. Yamamoto-kun will find us if we aren’t very, very quiet.”

Takeshi is a scarily competent seeker. He can sense the slightest disturbance in a place and can instantly pick up on where it’s coming from, which makes it a pain and a half to play any sort of finding game with him.

As expected, the change in scenery does nothing to hamper Takeshi’s uncanny ability to track you down. He finds you within a couple of minutes, and you and Lambo trail after him as he methodically searches the rest of the house for Hayato.

“Next round, we have to find them, okay?” you say, after Takeshi has dragged Hayato out of the laundry room. “Come on, let’s go to the living room and start counting.”

The four of you call it off about half an hour in so you can help Nana with dinner. None of you have seen hide nor hair of Tsuna, so Hayato promises he’ll text your brother while Takeshi keeps Lambo company.

You’re not sure which one of them to feel bad for—Hayato, because it’s almost a certain chance that Reborn will answer Tsuna’s phone for him, or Takeshi, because Lambo has higher levels of energy than you’ve ever seen in anyone else.

You are the luckiest one of them, because all you have to do is spend an hour with Mama doing what she loves.

*

Your school lets out early on Saturdays; P.E. and Home Economics make up the after-lunch classes, which are cut on the weekend because . . . well, you don’t know, but any excuse not to have to run laps is a blessing no matter what shape it takes.

The result of getting home early is that Mama tasks you with walking Lambo and Reborn to the park.

Tsuna is accompanying Takeshi to another one of his baseball games, and Hayato had decided to tag along. His most recent experiment had ended up with three of Mama’s potted plants scorched to hell and back, clay containers shattered and pieces lying all over the back porch. In response she’d swept through his room like a whirlwind, cleaning out every last thing she could find that seemed even a little suspect.

In short: Hayato is grounded and has nothing better to do than to sit through hours of a baseball game with Tsuna.

“Here’s some spending money, in case you want to take Lambo-kun to get some candy or a toy or something,” Mama says, pressing two 1000-yen bills into your hand. “Feel free to keep whatever you don’t spend.”

The words are music to your ears and she knows it.

You’re grinning a little during the whole walk to the park. Reborn keeps sending you odd looks, but you don’t care. You’re in possession of a bag of grape candy for Lambo, a can of coffee from a vending machine for Reborn, and the leftover money tucked into your wallet, soon to join your savings back at home.

You let Lambo loose onto the playground and keep half an eye on him while he immediately takes command of the jungle gym and begins to climb all over it like a chimpanzee on a sugar high. He’s surprisingly agile; not once does he look as though he’s in danger of falling.

“Reborn-sensei.”

“Hm?” Reborn asks, tipping the can of coffee back to make sure he’s got every last drop of it.

“Why do you want to keep Lambo-kun here?” you ask. “Mama told me you managed to get a hold of adoption papers for him, and you also had something to do with Hayato. Didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t. This is pure pragmatism,” Reborn says. “Keeping Tsunayoshi’s potential Storm Guardian and Potential Lightning Guardian under one roof is only common sense. This way, Tsunayoshi has the most opportunities to inspire feelings of loyalty and affection within the two of them.”

You’d known he was probably going to say something like that, but it still makes you angry that Reborn seems to see nothing wrong with training a little kid to become a member of the mafia. You don’t remember very well where he had been when the whole Mukuro situation had gone down but you recall all too clearly what had happened during his fight for the Vongola rings.

“What do you mean?” you force yourself to ask.

“It’s obvious to me that Lambo possesses a Lightning Flame,” Reborn says. “He’s already attached to you, and to some degree he likes Tsunayoshi, too. He’s the clear choice.”

“He’s five years old,” you say.

“And?”

“And can’t you find someone else to do it?” you ask. “You told us Tsu-kun had to fully accept Lambo-kun in order for them to become Harmonized. Do you really think Tsu-kun would take Lambo seriously, let alone ever view him as a proper Guardian?”

“You have a point,” Reborn says. “However, Tsunayoshi would warm up to him over time. If he grew close to Lambo, the potential for a bond would be there, no matter what Tsunayoshi feels for Lambo as a Guardian.”

“But you chose someone from school to be his Rain Guardian!” you protest. He’ll choose others too, and had originally—Ryohei and Hibari. “Can’t you find a Lightning at school? Lambo-kun’s family basically told him to fuck off and die by sending him here, and you wanna put him in _more_ danger?”

“Takahisa. One of the most important lessons you’ll ever learn in this line of work is to take every single opportunity afforded to you,” Reborn says. He’s still holding onto his empty can. “The Bovino Famiglia would have used him anyway. As long as he’s here, why shouldn’t we do the same?”

“We can afford to be better than this,” you say, shaking your head. “And Lambo’s family could have too. Reborn-sensei—”

“EEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!”

You instinctively look toward Lambo; he’s the only one here who could have caused that much of a commotion. True to your suspicions, he’s standing at the top of the playground, arms extended in front of him, while a girl squirms around on the ground directly below him.

Lambo has pushed someone off the playset.

The someone in question, you notice as you draw closer to the two of them, is _way_ too tall to be playing here. And despite her scream from earlier, she looks fairly unhurt, dusting herself off as though she hadn’t just landed flat on her back from about two meters up.

You stare at her. Squint to make sure you aren’t seeing things. Glance furtively back at the bench where Reborn is sitting, willing for him not to come any closer.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Haru is just fine!” Haru says. She turns and points to Lambo, who is making faces at her. “Is this your little brother?”

“Uh . . . yes,” you say. “His name is Lambo-kun. I’m Sawada Takahisa.”

“Haru’s name is Miura Haru! And Lambo-kun is so cute!” Haru squeaks, bouncing on her toes. After a couple seconds pass and she doesn’t say anything, her brow furrows. “Wait. Sawada? Are you the one whose brother attacked an upperclassman a couple weeks ago?”

You eye her uniform. Definitely not Namimori Middle’s, and likely never has been, unless your memory truly is that bad, so . . . “Well, yeah. But how do you know that?”

“Haru is friends with Kyoko-chan from your school! She told me all about it,” Haru says. She leans in, grinning conspiratorially. “Haru’s never met Mochida-senpai before, but Kyoko-chan says he’s a total creep and deserved what he got. Tell your brother congrats on giving him what he had coming, okay?”

When she shifts her posture back, she’s all sunny smiles and excited energy again. “Also, Haru wants to play with Lambo-kun!”

You guess it can’t hurt. “Lambo-kun, come down here and apologize for pushing Miura-san off the playground.” Haru is quick to reassure you that she’s not really hurt, that Lambo is just a baby and doesn’t need to apologize, but you shake your head, shutting down her arguments. “I’m trying to raise Lambo-kun to be polite and mind his manners. Even if you aren’t hurt, it was rude of him to do that to you.”

Haru’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click, and she stands there staring at her shoes while Lambo slowly clambers down. At some point he seems to get tired of actually having to use effort, so he just launches himself off the playground and into your arms.

“Lambo-kun—ack! Gimme a warning before you do that next time,” you say, staggering back. “Okay, okay, I’ll carry you. Apologize to Miura-san now, and then we can all play, okay?”

Lambo turns to look at her and says, “The Great Lambo is sorry for pushing you. Let’s play tag!”

Haru melts under his look of sorrow. “Haru forgives you, Lambo-kun! Tag sounds super super fun~! Can Haru be it?”

“Sure, why not?” you say, setting Lambo down so he can prepare to run. “We can play for about an hour. I have to be home for lunch before too long.”

“That’s okay!” Haru says, dropping into some stretches to warm herself up. “Get ready! Haru is beginning the chase in five, four, three, two, one!”

She’s _fast._

Only your training from Reborn gives you the upper hand. If you’d played with her a month ago, she’d have you beat for sure. She goes easy on Lambo—of course she does—and you have to slow your pace to give him a fair chance at catching you.

It’s wonderful. Lambo’s been getting along okay with Tsuna and Mama, but Takeshi is a total stranger and he and Hayato have already made enemies with each other. Haru is completely new, and gentle, and she’s so good with Lambo it makes you wonder whether she has any siblings you never knew about.

You end up spending more time than you’d meant to at the park, and while you’re recovering from the exercise, bent over with your hands on your knees, you manage to accidentally invite Haru over for lunch.

“Aha, are you sure, Sawada-san?” she asks, scratching at her head self-consciously. “Haru wouldn’t want to impose . . . ”

“It’s no problem at all!” you insist, wondering why the hell you said that in the first place. “Mama would love you, and you’re already friends with Lambo-kun too!”

“Well . . . okay,” Haru says, smiling. “Can Haru carry Lambo-kun on the way?”

“How do you feel about that, Lambo-kun?” you ask.

When he nods, Haru lets out a soft meep of happiness and scoops Lambo into her arms. He immediately makes himself comfortable.

“Reborn-sensei!” you yell. He’s still sitting on the bench, and has been doing nothing but observing this whole time.

On the one hand, you’re glad he stayed away. Haru hadn’t been aware of his presence, and he wouldn’t be able to introduce himself as the World’s Greatest Hitman and subsequently incur her righteous fury at the idea of a baby murderer. On the other hand, it only puts off the confrontation temporarily, so while Reborn makes his way over to the three of you, you mentally and physically brace yourself for round two.

When Haru’s eyes land on Reborn, she gasps like someone has just given her the world on a fancy gold platter.

“You never mentioned you had _two_ brothers!” she says, bouncing over toward Reborn. “Why didn’t he come play with us?”

“Reborn-sensei is . . . shy?” you say.

She accepts the excuse at face value, but smiles when she notices you calling him your teacher. “Aww, are you playing school? I’m Miura Haru! It’s nice to meet you, Reborn-sensei!”

Reborn gives her a little smile. “I’m not just a teacher. I’m the World’s Greatest Hitman.”

“The—the what!?” Haru. She turns to you, scandalized. “Sawada-san, what are you teaching him?”

“He . . . he saw it on television,” you say weakly, sending a pleading look toward Reborn. Haru is perhaps the only normal person you’ve interacted with in weeks. You really, _really_ want her to stick around. “You know how it is.”

Haru sniffs delicately, shifts Lambo on her hip, and nods. “If it’s only a TV show, I guess it isn’t that bad. But you have to watch out for him better, okay?”

You adopt a chastised expression, while Reborn takes his revenge on you by climbing up onto your shoulder. He _knows_ that gives you muscle pains. “Yeah. I know, sorry. Um. Do you want to get going? My house is close by.”

Haru beams at you. “Lead the way!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been waiting to introduce haru for so long.... and soon there will be even more girls!!! because i am SICK! AND! TIRED! of women being shafted in khr canon. let's get some badass bitches in here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um... honestly im not sure how i updated so fast. i think it was a combination of actually having a really solid plan for what i wanted to write, and where i wanted to end it? but also i've had way too much caffeine over the past couple of days which is definitely contributing. i kind of got sick of looking at it so it's not as edited as it probably should be, which means there might be spelling errors that i missed. please let me know if you catch any!
> 
> also, thanks to everyone who commented so far <3 you're all very sweet. i read every single comment even if i don't have the energy to reply, so just know i appreciate you.

Over the next few days, Reborn seems to be in a contemplative mood, especially whenever Haru is over to play with Lambo. He always turns down her repeated invitations to join in on the games, but without fail lurks in the corner of whatever room the three of you are in to keep an eye over the proceedings.

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

It’s especially cold today, and Mama has the kotatsu set up in the living room. You’re sprawled out under it, Lambo is asleep on the couch, and Reborn is sitting cross-legged next to your head, correcting Tsuna’s homework.

“I’m thinking Tsunayoshi had better touch up on his understanding of metaphors,” Reborn replies, marking something off with a red pen. “This is atrocious.”

“No, no,” you say, waving your hand at him. He quirks an eyebrow at you. “You’ve been quiet. It’s weird.”

He doesn’t respond for a little while. The only thing you hear from him is the sound of his pen scratching across the paper. You like that he spends so much time helping Tsuna get his grades up—and Takeshi, too. He doesn’t have to worry about Hayato in anything save for Home Economics, but you’d be surprised if Reborn’s ever cooked in his life.

Just as the warmth of the kotatsu has nearly lulled you all the way to sleep, Reborn says, “Tsunayoshi told me you’d like to tell Nana what’s going on.”

That . . . doesn’t seem like the reason behind whatever’s been troubling Reborn lately, but it’s the follow-up to a different problem you’ve been having, which is much, much better than if he’d told you nothing like you’d expected him to.

“Wow, he actually talked to you?” you say, and then frown. You should have more confidence in him. “I’m happy he did. What—um, what do you think about that, Reborn-sensei?”

Again, he gives you silence. You will yourself to stay awake while you wait it out.

“I think you should do whatever you feel is best,” Reborn says at last. The tone of his voice—pensive, maybe a little unsure—is at odds with his childish lisp. “This one’s under your jurisdiction, Takahisa.”

“You’re not gonna help?” you ask, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

“No,” Reborn says. “This is something you and your brother have to do. Nana can come to me later if she has questions.”

“Okay,” you say. “Hey, can you tell me something, though?”

“Depends. What is it?”

“My dad’s involved, isn’t he?” you ask. “Has he been lying about his job?”

“ . . . Yes. As far as I know, he did so with the intent to protect the three of you from his career. Vongola Nono had three sons. The idea that all of them would die before inheriting and having children of their own was nearly unthinkable.”

He’s just given you something very important. All you can do with that is to honor his judgement and do the best you can to tell Mama everything.

“Thanks, Reborn-sensei.”

*

You’re sure Mama takes great pains so that you and Tsuna never have to see her cry. A mother who cries in front of her children is not a mother who can be their rock, their shield, their unwavering protection from a world that would hurt them. A mother who cries in front of her children is human, and being human in front of an audience is terrifying.

Sometimes when you were younger you would creep past her bedroom at night on your way to get a glass of water from downstairs, and you’d hear her softly sobbing, muffled by the thick wooden door separating her room from the rest of the house.

There are times you catch her close to it, when you come home from school and round the corner into the kitchen and notice she’s shaking, gripping the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles have turned white.

When the revelation that her husband has been keeping secrets from her for nearly the entire time they’ve known each other fully sinks in, Sawada Nana sits on the edge of her son’s bed and cries silently, hands covering her face. The moment the first tear rolls down the curve of her cheek, Tsuna is a blur of motion. Between one breath and the next he is up and at your mother’s side, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and burying his face into her hair.

Mama had sat quietly through your explanation of the family line, had blinked once but let you continue when she’d asked if that meant Iemitsu was a descendant too and you’d said yes, it did.

She had been amazed when Tsuna had shown her his Flames. Worried when she realized you and Tsuna were going to attract the attention of dangerous people in the future. Accepting when you and Tsuna had desperately tried to prove you could defend yourselves.

Every question she’d asked had been underscored by a sharp current of anxiety. Has Reborn been teaching you to fight? Can you really trust him? Is Hayato a part of the mafia, too? Is Lambo? Why you, and not anyone else? Is there anything I can do to help keep you safe? Takahisa, do you have these Flames too?

Halfway through your explanation of Flame types, Mama’s eyes had gotten all faraway. Tsuna had noticed before you did, and had asked her what was wrong. She’d said _he didn’t tell me_ so quietly, so timidly and haltingly you’d nearly thought you imagined it.

“Mama, it’s okay,” Tsuna says. His voice cracks halfway through _Mama._

She shakes her head. Opens her mouth, and closes it. It’s clear she doesn’t want you to see her like this. As she struggles for words, you join Tsuna on her other side.

No one wants to air out their marital problems in front of their kids, and Mama can’t be any different. You want to tell her _you can talk to me_ and _is there anything I can do_ but it would be weird of you to offer that, and she’d never take you up.

“We’re learning to take care of ourselves better,” you say, hoping to comfort her. “I know you’re worried, but it’ll be okay. I . . . ”

You can’t say you promise. You could never do that to her.

So you say, “I love you, Mama,” and from a few feet away, Tsuna echoes the sentiment.

When she takes her hands away from her face for long enough to give you and Tsuna a watery smile, it just about breaks your heart, and you hug her even closer to you. You’re certain there’s a lot more you still need to work out. She’ll have questions about Reborn, and she’ll want progress checks on your tutoring, and she’s going to need to see you and Tsuna and everyone else safe and happy.

Overall, she’d taken it better than you expected. You can only be thankful.

Mama sits with the two of you for another fifteen minutes, and then excuses herself to go talk to Hayato. You’re not sure exactly how that goes, but toward the end of half an hour he slips into your room with suspiciously puffy eyes and plops down beside you and your brother, not quite pressed up against you but so close that you have to try not to slide into the dip he creates on the bed.

The rest of the day is sluggish and lazy. Lambo is content to snooze all day, quiet for a nice change, and Mama checks in on you three more than she normally would. At one point you don’t see any signs of her for nearly an hour, and when you go down to the living room to look, she’s in her room, talking with someone quietly on the phone. It might be Iemitsu. You creep back up the stairs as quietly as you can, hoping not to alert her.

Before bed, Reborn asks you how it went.

“Not that bad, actually,” you say, snuggling into your bed and thanking every deity out there that you’d had the foresight to complete your homework right after school. “I think she’s going to be really on edge for a while, and she seemed really sad about Papa. But I think she’s okay.”

“He better apologize next time he comes home,” Tsuna chimes in.

“Yeah,” you say. “He really better.”

It comes out a little meaner than you’d intended, but no one calls you on it.

*

“How many Dying Will bullets have I shot you with, Takahisa?”

“Nine?” you say, sliding into a ready stance as Hibari growls at the delay. “I’m pretty sure it’s nine.”

The number would probably be higher, except that you need a recovery period between every bullet. You and Reborn had found that out the hard way when he’d shot you two consecutive days in a row, and for the next forty-eight hours you’d barely been able to move from the pain of it.

“Interesting,” Reborn says. “Let’s hope you’re prepared for the consequences. It would be a shame if this was the last time I could train you.”

“The _what_ —”

He shoots you.

“It should set in by the end of this week,” Reborn continues, as you pick yourself up off the ground and prepare for Hibari’s onslaught of attacks. “Don’t worry. You’ll probably come out of this unharmed.”

Listening to Reborn distracts you from the brutal kick Hibari delivers directly to the back of your head. Your vision blacks out for a moment while you stumble, and as you’re frantically trying to regain your balance, he follows it up with two precise blows to the backs of your knees.

Reborn’s falling training saves you from going flat on your face, and the Flames coating your body ensure that you take less damage than you normally would. Either way, by the time you get back to your feet, your shoulder is beginning to ache from where you landed on it and Hibari is coming in for another attack.

Fights with Hibari are a blur of tangled limbs, heavy breaths and starbursts of pain; there is no formula nor predictability. Reborn, too, isn’t teaching you any martial art in particular, but how to hold yourself in a fight, how to look for weaknesses and exploit them, and how to take inventory of your surroundings, second by second by second.

He also teaches you the value of a tactical retreat, which is why you take the first opportunity you see to dart off into an abandoned factory building to catch your breath. This place is a maze once you get inside. From here, it’s only a matter of crawling into tight spaces, holding your breath as you kick up years-old dust, trying not to cut your hands on the old shards of glass and rough concrete lying around.

Hibari wastes no time.

You hear him stalking through the lower rooms of the building, slamming doors open and scouring the area for any trace of you. Your heart is beating so fast you can barely keep track of it, and it’s harder than it should be to get your breathing under control. The Flames coiling around the surface of your body are slightly hot, slightly suffocating, and you’re sweating buckets in the still air of the abandoned factory.

When he starts up toward the second story, you’re forced to stop looking through your little spyhole and get moving. You crack open a window, wincing at how loud the sound of it is. That definitely alerted him.

There’s nothing for it. You quickly shimmy down the outer wall of the building, almost falling once or twice when your bare feet don’t catch quite right on the rough walls.

The next building over is full of out-of-order conveyor belts, tubes and flaps metal bars. You take shelter underneath a rickety-looking table, praying for it not to collapse on you.

There are three doors in this room. Two of them lead outside, and one leads further into the factory. You’re prone to becoming lost in strange environments, so as soon as you hear Hibari’s footfalls, steadily coming nearer and nearer, you make a break for the door closest to you.

Mistake.

Hibari is waiting for you there, and intercepts by kicking you off course. The impact is so harsh you’re sent flying, tumbling end over end until your back slams into the hard, unyielding wall of the factory.

It knocks the wind out of you and you struggle on the ground, trying to kickstart your lungs into working while your Flames sputter out.

“This fight is over,” he says. Begins to turn away.

“Wait,” you wheeze, finally managing to take two consecutive breaths without your lungs seizing up.

“What, omnivore?” he asks, fixing you under a glare so intense it sends shivers down your spine.

“ . . . Never mind,” you say, arms flopping back beside you.

Yesterday the thought had entered your head that even if Hibari won’t be Tsuna’s Cloud Guardian anymore, he could still be an invaluable ally. With that in mind, you’d decided to make friends with him the only way how: by inviting him over for dinner. But now that you’re actually here in front of him, thinking that through, it doesn’t seem like as good of an idea as you had thought, which is fair since you’d come up with it at about two in the morning.

“Don’t waste my time,” he snaps.

“Aren’t I already doing that?” you ask curiously.

The look he turns on you is half-disgusted, half-offended. “I never do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Could have fooled me,” you mutter. “Wait, does that mean you don’t hate my guts?”

Hibari’s eyebrow twitches. Maybe that’s a sign you should stop talking to him. “I enjoy biting you to death, omnivore, not making conversation.”

He takes his leave.

“That could have gone better,” you say, watching as Reborn’s head peeks over from the top of the building. How’d he even get up there? That one has no stairs, and it’s at least a ten-foot climb. “Hey, you. What’s up?”

“Is that any way to address your beloved teacher? Show some respect,” Reborn says, jumping directly down onto your stomach. It should probably hurt more than it does, which means Reborn had pulled some hocus-pocus bullshit to cushion his fall, but you’re too preoccupied with clutching at your middle and mentally cussing him out to be grateful for the little things. “You have the oddest penchant for befriending every living thing you cross paths with.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you ask. “And it’s not _everyone._ Only the important ones. They’re all mine.”

You’re beginning to become one with the ground underneath you. If you don’t get up soon, you might take a nap right here on the dirt. A dirt nap. That would be funny. Jesus, what is it about the aftereffects of Dying Will mode that makes you think like this?

“Yes,” Reborn says, gesturing for you to get up. “Unquestionably, yes. There are some people you should never make friends with.”

“And Hibari-senpai is one of them?” you ask.

There’s gravel all over your back. You busy yourself with dusting it off you, bemoaning the loss of the flexibility you had before you were Takahisa—some of the grime is stuck on that particular spot on your back that’s impossible to reach with this body. You’re going to have to enlist Tsuna or Mama’s help to get all this off you.

“Well, no. That remains to be seen,” Reborn says.

“So what was the point of—oh. I get it,” you say, giggling. “You just can’t resist handing out life lessons, can you?”

“What was that?” Reborn says, pointing Leon-as-a-gun at you.

“Nothing!” you say, trying to keep a grin off your face. “Nothing.”

Halfway through your walk home, you remember what Reborn had said to you before he’d shot you.

“Can we back up about an hour?” you ask, feeling talkative. It’s only because of your extreme fatigue; normally you keep a tight lid on your words, carefully considering each and every one before it even has a sliver of a chance of leaving your mouth. “Like, to when you made me go into Dying Will mode? What did you mean consequences? And why are you implying I might die for real?”

Saying it out loud sends a little thrill of fear through you, down into your hands where they shake at your sides before you clench them into tight fists. No. Reborn wouldn’t let you die.

“It’s said that something terrible happens when you’re shot with the Dying Will bullet ten times,” Reborn explains. “My former student contracted Skullitis, so as a precaution I’ve called an associate in to deal with it, should the need arise.”

“Me, specifically?” you ask. Wait, that was a general “you.” Oh, god, exhaustion turns you into a total idiot. “Never mind. What’s Skullitis? And who’s your associate?”

Reborn is perched on top of your shoulder, so while you can’t see his face, you still get the general sense that he’s smiling, which is never a good sign.

“Who knows?” he says simply, and despite your badgering—because you’re not supposed to know what it is, and it would be weird for you to just drop it—Reborn lets nothing slip for the rest of the night.

*

“And how long are you going to be out today?” Mama asks. She’s been fretting over you and Tsuna all afternoon, ever since Reborn announced his intent to take you, your brother, Hayato, and Takeshi out into the woods for training. “I want everyone back for dinner. And make sure Yamamoto-kun knows he’s welcome, if he wants to stay.”

“We’ll be home around five, Nana-san,” Reborn promises, herding the lot of you out of the house and sending Mama a wave. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Hayato is the last one to exit, and he closes the door behind him.

You know Mama hates to see you leave, now that she’s aware of exactly what Reborn’s training you for. But she lets you go anyway, wishing you the best, and your heart hurts for it. She’s trying so hard to keep it together for you. There has to be something you can do to show her how much you appreciate it. There’s _gotta_ be. You just need to find it.

“Hayato, Tsunayoshi, with me. We’re taking a detour to the store to pick up some supplies,” Reborn says. He turns to you. “Takahisa, go fetch Yamamoto and head for the northern trailhead. If we’re not already there, give me a call.”

If they have to pick up supplies, there’s definitely nothing fun in store for you today. Should you be relieved that you don’t have to witness Reborn actively plotting your destruction, or despairing that whatever he chooses will come as a surprise to you?

“Yes, Reborn-sensei,” you agree, splitting off toward TakeSushi.

You hardly have to think about it anymore. Your feet take you toward the restaurant with little or no input from your brain. It’s a testament to how often you’ve come to pick him up. He knows you’re coming—Reborn had told you to text him in advance—so hopefully, you won’t have to wait too long.

You always feel a little awkward around Tsuyoshi. How much does he know? How much does he tell Takeshi? There’s no way he’s completely in the dark about the mafia; after all, he had passed Shigure Soen Ryu down to Takeshi, which is a distinctly Rainy style of swordsmanship. There’s no way any of that had been special effects.

You enter TakeSushi hesitantly, checking to see if Tsuyoshi is serving anyone—he isn’t, but there are some customers seated around the front bar—before calling out to him.

“Yamamoto-san!”

“Ah! Hello, Sawada-kun,” he says, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Are you here to pick up Takeshi-kun?”

“Yes,” you say, picking at the hem of your shirt. “Would you please let him know I’m here?”

Tsuyoshi laughs, waving a hand at you. “Please, go on up yourself! I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate his old man elbowing in on his friendships.”

“Thank you,” you say, heading for the backroom that leads to the stairwell. You take the stairs two at a time, clinging to the thin railing just in case you lose your balance. It’s happened before. Takeshi isn’t out in the living room or small kitchen, so he must be in his room. You’re not about to barge in on his privacy, so you cup your hands around your mouth and yell, “Yamamoto-kun!!!! I’m here!!!!!”

Hopefully, none of the customers downstairs heard that.

Takeshi pokes his head out of his room a couple seconds later, with an expression of pleasant bewilderment on his face. He searches around for a moment before seeing you. “Sawada-san! I’m almost ready. Give me a couple seconds, I knocked something over and I’m still cleaning it up.”

“Do you, uh, want some help?” you ask.

“No need to trouble yourself! I’ve got it,” Takeshi says, disappearing back behind the door before you can tell him you wouldn’t mind. You only have to wait for him a few minutes, but it feels like half an hour before he comes back out, small backpack slung over his shoulder. “Okay. Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool,” you say, starting down the stairs.

Tsuyoshi sends the two of you out the door with a huge grin and an enthusiastic wave. If he’s anything like Mama, he’s just as glad to see Takeshi making friends as she is about you.

“Reborn is getting some stuff at the store. Probably sports equipment,” you explain to Takeshi, as the two of you leave TakeSushi. “He took Hayato and Tsuna with him. Man, the storage room is gonna be so full if this keeps happening.”

Takeshi doesn’t have anything to say to that, only a nod and a hum, but it’s not awkward. Spending time with him is never awkward. You don’t feel like you have to say something in order for Takeshi to accept your presence near him.

You don’t think he’ll judge you for anything you say, either, so you decide to go out on a limb and ask him, “Are you okay?”

He glances at you. “What do you mean?”

There’s no way to say, “Did you really have no friends before this? Why don’t you ever hang out with anyone else?” without sounding like a complete jerk, so you tell him it’s nothing.

“Actually,” Takeshi begins haltingly, fingers clutching at the strap of his bag, “I don’t know if I was . . . doing that well. Before I met you.” You make to respond, but he quickly follows up with, “I’m better now. _Getting_ better now, don’t worry.”

“Yeah,” you say, and then because you need him to know this, “I know we’re not that close, but I’m here for you, okay? You really helped me out that day in the—in the—you know. And those other times.”

The words aren’t coming to you like you want them to be. It should be smoother than this, should be less stuttering and unsure. You grit your teeth in frustration and keep going.

“So just—if you feel like anything’s too much, I can listen. I’m not that great at advice, but I know when to stay quiet and listen,” you finish.

Takeshi chuckles quietly. Your first instinct is hurt—is he laughing at you? Is he not taking you seriously? Those fears prove to be unfounded when he smiles, shaking his head.

“I found someone to talk to,” he says, kicking at a stray pebble. The closer to the edge of town the two of you get, the more stones and loose dirt you find on the sidewalks. It won’t be long before you reach the trailhead. “But thanks. It means a lot, really.”

You can’t help the relief that swells within you. Part of it is that Takeshi has found someone to help him—he might not go and admit it outright, but you’re good enough at reading between the lines, so you’re pretty sure he’s talking about a therapist. The other half of it is that you don’t have to deal with it now. All you have to do is be his friend.

Everything has been piling up—Mama knowing about Vongola, Lambo and Reborn, fear and anticipation of Reborn’s colleague coming over, and your impending case of probably-Skullitis among a million other problems you probably aren’t even thinking of right now, because you’re stupid and went ahead and got attached to so many people. This is one thing you don’t have to take care of, which is nothing short of a blessing. No one told you caring about people would be this hard.

“Oh. Reborn-sensei’s not here yet,” you say. “Hold on. I need to call him.”

Namimori’s northern trailhead is a well-worn path about a quarter of a kilometer past where the last few houses begin to peter out into woodland. A wooden sign stands just to the left of the trail, denoting the location, and there are a couple of benches as well as a trash and recycling bin for people to throw their garbage away.

You unlock your phone and quickly scroll through your small list of contacts.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Takahisa. We’re almost there. You’re already at the trail?”

“Yes,” you say, sighing when the line goes silent. Reborn doesn’t even tell you goodbye before hanging up, but you’ve learned to accept his antics at this point. Turning to Takeshi, you pass the news along. “They’ll be here soon. Let’s hope this is nothing like last time.”

Last time being a game of capture the flag that you never ever want to repeat, or even really think about.

“I dunno,” Takeshi says. “Last time was kind of fun. Reborn-sensei is getting really creative with the games.”

Reborn arrives within ten minutes, with Hayato and Tsuna in tow. Tsuna has a mesh bag full of rubber dodgeballs slung over his shoulder, and Hayato is carrying . . . you don’t actually know what it is. Something metal, with joints and wheels, and you can see a canvas peeking out from inside that entire mess.

“Follow me,” Reborn orders. “We’re going to the usual place.”

The usual place is a small clearing east of where the trail begins. Reborn rides on the top of Tsuna’s head all the way to it, and then remains there as he instructs the four of you to set up a pair of carts to hold the dodgeballs.

“We bought twenty dodgeballs,” Reborn says. “Split ten into each cart. Today we’re playing Roaming Dodgeball. There are no boundaries you must stay inside, and no limitations on what you’re allowed to do. Go ahead and use your Flames, Tsunayoshi.”

“My—” Tsuna says, cutting himself off with a look at Takeshi. “In front of him!?”

“I never tried to imply this was a game. It’s Yamamoto’s fault for wrongly interpreting what I said,” Reborn says simply. “Teams are Tsunayoshi and Hayato, Yamamoto and Takahisa. Team No-Good gets the red cart. Team Laid-Back gets the blue cart. I’ll be moving them around the forest at all times during the game as well as picking up loose dodgeballs and returning them to the carts.”

“Yes!” Hayato crows, pumping his fist into the air. “I’m gonna kick your ass, baseball idiot!”

Tsuna seems to be hung up on a completely different thing. “Team No-Good?” he asks. “Change the name! _Change the name_! I can’t play like this!”

“Both teams start with fifty points,” Reborn continues, completely ignoring Tsuna’s protests, “and every hit is minus one point. If you’re hit—by a ball or by someone’s attack—and can’t get up for ten seconds or longer, minus five points. If you catch the ball and hit an opponent with your next throw, plus two points. It is not possible to go above fifty points, and the first team to zero loses. Stand by your carts—you have five minutes until the game begins.”

“Yes, Reborn-sensei!” the four of you chorus.

“What did he mean by Flames?” Takeshi asks, once the two of you are huddled near your cart. “Did Gokudera-san bring fireworks again?”

“It’s dynamite. Also, Tsu-kun has magic powers,” you say.

“Wow. Have you ever considered going into stand-up comedy?” Takeshi asks.

“Was that an insult?” you ask in return, cracking a grin when Takeshi attempts to backpedal. “You’ll see. Anyway, let’s talk strategy. I’m pretty sure Hayato actually _did_ bring his dynamite, so you really need to look out for it. It probably isn’t easy to start a wildfire in winter, but I bet it’s possible, which means he might not be able to go all-out. Tsuna might end up burning the dodgeballs to shit with his Flames, so depending on his control we might have an advantage.”

“You’re really serious about this,” Takeshi notes. He doesn’t particularly sound like he’s buying what you’re selling, but the look on his face is a little less—open? Playful?—than before. “Guess I have no room to fool around, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I can’t use my Flames, and you can’t either. Probably.”

There was that one time in the equipment shed, but you can’t be certain, and Takeshi definitely hadn’t picked up on it. It could have been any number of things, so while you don’t discount the theory that he can use his flames, you also aren’t going to rely too heavily on it either.

“Wait, I have magic powers too?” Takeshi asks.

“Yeah. All of us do,” you say. “You’ll just have to see it, okay?”

“Okay,” Takeshi agrees. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, you have an amazing throwing arm, and I’m pretty good at dodging,” you say. “You should try to score as many points as you can. My arms are—” You pause, holding up your arms for Takeshi to see. There’s not much muscle there; your strength is in your legs. “—yeah. I’ll try not to get hit and stuff. I should be focusing on taking Tsuna and Hayato down to make them lose points quickly.”

“Got it,” Takeshi says. “Gokudera-san might be aiming for me, though . . . ”

“Don’t get hit,” you say. When Takeshi grimaces, you mentally review what you’d said. “Oh. Sorry. I mean, you’ve been doing awesome with Reborn-sensei’s training. You definitely have the skill to avoid his dynamite. He hasn’t, ah—he throws too far to the left and Reborn-sensei hasn’t been able to beat that habit out of him yet, so take advantage of it.”

Your praise leaves Takeshi looking a little bashful. “Haha . . . I’m not _that_ good.”

“You are,” you say, grabbing a ball out of the cart, feeling irritated for something that’s not Takeshi’s fault. “Don’t downplay your own skill.”

Takeshi gives you an odd look for the flat tone you’re taking with him, and you can’t blame him. He doesn’t know how long you spent as another person, constantly told you weren’t good enough, and getting shot down whenever you dared to express confidence in your abilities. Takeshi has the skill. It’s not wrong for him to acknowledge it, even if you do realize polite society demands he never accept a compliment without putting himself down.

He settles for a short, simple nod.

Reborn grabs your attention by blowing on a whistle so high-pitched you can almost feel your eardrums rupturing.

Hayato is immediately on the offensive. He has completely foregone the dodgeball aspect of the game and is currently tossing a long, thin stick of dynamite toward you and Takeshi.

Tsuna takes advantage of the two of you jumping out of the way to nail you with a dodgeball to the shoulder. It hurts like a motherfucker, courtesy of Tsuna propelling the ball with his Flames.

Ugh, no fair that he can control them so well already. You’re happy for him, no mistake about that, but the hint of a competitive streak inside you is screaming for you to get better already.

“Team Laid-Back: forty-nine points.”

You hear a pained groan from Takeshi.

“Team Laid-Back: forty-eight points.”

Before Hayato can light the fuse of his next explosive, you chuck the dodgeball at his face, feeling satisfaction when it collides with his cheek so hard it leaves bright red hatches all over his skin.

“Team No-Good: forty-nine points.”

The cigarette falls from Hayato’s slack lips, accompanied by some choice expletives, and while he’s getting a new one out, Takeshi scrambles over toward the ball cart, throwing the ball in his hands toward Hayato and then following it up with two more.

“Team No-Good: forty-six points.”

The first ten minutes of the game go the same way, with both of your teams steadily whittling down your opponents’ points. The first real change happens when you look back toward the cart and find it missing. A quick scan around the area shows you that Reborn is nowhere to be found, either.

Hayato and Takeshi have been grappling with each other on the forest floor for about fifteen seconds now, and Tsuna is staring right at you, winding up for another hard throw.

You catch the ball, wincing. It’s hot and your hands have always been sensitive. You hurl it right back at him, and he barely manages to dodge. Damn, you would have loved to get that point bonus—you’re down by six to Tsuna’s team. You don’t want to fight him because he’s clearly the stronger of you two, but he would definitely attack you if you tried to go over there and pick up a dodgeball. There are no more on your side.

You glance back toward where Hayato and Takeshi . . . _were._ They’re out of sight now, disappeared beyond the treeline, but they aren’t very far away if the sounds of Hayato’s angry shouting are anything to go by.

“Truce?” you try.

“No way,” Tsuna laughs, speeding towards you in a streak of orange fire.

Well. You tried.

Tsuna’s first punch misses the top of your head by only a couple of centimeters, if the wave of heat you can feel passing over your head is any indicator.

“Hey! Turn down the temperature,” you say, gasping in pain when Tsuna’s elbow slams into your face. “Oh, it’s on now.”

Unfortunately for him, Tsuna’s brand-new fighting skills—and magic superpowers—do not come with an extra helping of grace or agility, so you have him tripping over himself fairly soon into the fight. You knock him down a couple of times, and he you, but it never lasts. At some point, Team No-Good’s ball cart vanishes into thin air. Definitely Reborn’s work.

Finally, _finally_ you get him on the ground again, and hold your breath as you count— _seven, eight, nine, ten,_ and Reborn’s voice rings loud and clear from somewhere above your head.

“Team No-Good: thirty points.”

Tsuna groans.

“Get up,” you say, sticking your hand out to him. “No tricks.”

Tsuna looks a little wary, but places his no-longer-Flaming hand into yours, and you pull him to his feet.

“Temporary truce? Please?” he asks, and you nod, hair flopping down into your eyes. You brush it aside with an annoyed huff. “Huh, that’s odd. I can’t hear Hayato anymore.”

You and Tsuna share a tense silence that stretches out for an uncomfortably long period of time before he nods at you and hares off into the woods, leaving you in silence.

It doesn’t last—Takeshi comes crashing out of a thick stand of trees only a few moments into your newfound peace, panting harshly and looking over his shoulder every couple of seconds.

“I—found the cart,” he says, doubled over and out of breath. “Gokudera-san is chasing me. I don’t know where your brother is.”

“Tsu-kun just ran off,” you say. “Looking for Hayato, I think. I knocked him over. How many points do we have?”

“Twenty-eight, last time I heard,” he says. “I got some points back, but Gokudera-san is really quick. He blew up a tree. I don’t think Reborn-sensei was very happy about that.”

“See? Real dynamite,” you say, following after Takeshi as he leads you to the ball cart. “I’m pretty sure he makes it himself.”

“Is that even legal?” Takeshi wonders.

“I ha—”

_BOOM._

“FOUND YOU, BASEBALL FREAK!”

*

Roaming Dodgeball lasts for another couple hours. Reborn shuffles the ball carts around every fifteen minutes, making sure they’re restocked, and is absolutely meticulous about scorekeeping.

To no one’s surprise, Team No-Good wins the game—once things had gotten started, there had been no stopping Hayato’s burning need to one-up Takeshi at all times.

While Tsuna is calling Mama to let her know you’re on your way home, you ask Takeshi, “Wanna come home for dinner? Mama told me to invite you.”

“Are you sure?” Takeshi says, wiping at the sweat dripping down his brow. You hand him a towel from your bag and he gives you a nod of thanks. “If it isn’t too much trouble, then yeah, I’d like to.”

“I think Mama’s doing stir-fry tonight,” you say. “That, or tempura. I can’t remember which I was supposed to help with.”

“Either sounds good,” Takeshi says, shrugging.

The four of you, minus Reborn who’s clinging to the top of Tsuna’s head, jog back home to keep warm in the frigid December air.

Mama welcomes you and Tsuna back with a hug and a kiss, sweeping the two of you into her arms and holding you there against her warmth. She turns toward Hayato, but he’s already halfway up the stairs. He’s gotten the odd notion that he isn’t welcome in family hugs, and you’re aiming to let him know that isn’t the case at all. Mama already sees him as her son—in the month and a half or so you’ve known him, she’s come to love him already.

You have enough time after washing up to help Mama with getting everything out onto the table. It’s stir-fry. You slowly scoop the contents of the wok into a large serving bowl while Mama gets the rice from the cooker.

By the time everyone is seated and ready for dinner, you feel just about dead on your feet. Hayato has gotten out all his frustration for the day, and though he doesn’t look ecstatic to be seated next to Takeshi at the table, he doesn’t try to bicker.

The only one who has any kind of energy is Lambo, because he’s been home all day doing basically nothing. He spends the entire meal chattering on about what he and Mama got done—cleaning, playing, and Mama had taken Lambo out for an hour to buy him some clothes and everyday necessities. He tries to drag you upstairs to show off the purple bedsheets Mama had bought for him, but one word from her has him sitting right back down and promising he’ll wait until after he’s done eating.

“Mama, I’m done eating!” Lambo says, showing her his empty plate.

“Good job, Lambo-kun,” she congratulates, smiling at him. “Takkun needs to help Mama with the dishes, so can you wait a little? Oh, here’s an idea! You can go upstairs with Yamamoto-kun and Hayato-kun and play the video game I bought for you today!”

Lambo lights up at the mention of video games, and wastes no time in trying to forcefully shove Hayato and Takeshi towards the staircase. Reborn tags along, keeping a watchful eye over the three of them.

“Play, now!” Lambo commands.

“Not Tsu-kun?” you ask, looking questioningly toward Mama as you get up and help her start clearing the table.

“I just need to tell you two something before I let you go up and play with Lambo-kun,” Mama says, heading for the kitchen with a small stack of dirty plates balanced in her hands. Tsuna is carrying the serving dishes and you had scooped up all the utensils. “I’ve been talking with your father.”

“To _Papa_?” Tsuna asks incredulously, setting his dishes down into the sink.

“Yes,” Mama says, turning to the two of you with a stern expression. “I understand why he thought he needed to keep things from me, but I’m very unhappy. I want to fix things with him, and make sure he has a better relationship with the two of you, too. Which is why . . . ”

She takes a fortifying breath, completely unaware of the icy dread that has begun to pool in your stomach.

“Which is why he’s coming home tomorrow.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u to cass for beta reading this again... youre the best. for real. <3
> 
> honestly i dont like this chapter very much. some of it comes from the fact that i had a minor crisis around halfway through and had to restructure the entire thing, and the rest of it stems from shamal being shamal. and i gave myself anxiety writing him. so if you would like to spare yourself the trouble - and i promise he's only here to fix skullitis and lie low for a couple months until i need him around again - the part in the story that features him begins from, "As Shamal walks into the room," and ends at "Reborn heads in the direction of the front door, probably to rip Shamal a new one." and uh... tw for implied transphobia during that part too. this entire chapter is basically a high-stress sandwich—one lighthearted bit at the beginning, [CONFUSED AND ANGRY SCREAMING], and then another good part at the end.
> 
> i promise we will get back to the fun stuff. it's just that every bad thing decided to happen at once.
> 
> also ive been listening to [Cafe D'Athens](https://youtu.be/4CAXa8SvjjE) by foals a lot recently... gotta stick to my brand.

Understandably, you freak out. So does Tsuna.

“Whuh—huh—he can’t come home!” says Tsuna, nearly dropping the dishes he’s carrying. After a few seconds, he comes to the realization that yes, Iemitsu totally _can_ come home. “But . . . but . . . ”

“He’s not going to be here long,” Mama reassures. It makes something twinge painfully inside you; no parent should have to comfort their child with the fact that their father won’t be staying home long. “He’s coming home to explain a few things to me. And to make sure everything is okay.”

At least he had stepped up. You hate Iemitsu and refuse to be held accountable if you attack him on sight, but you have to admit that he’s doing the right thing by coming home and attempting to fix this mess. Unless Mama _told_ him to come over, in which case you take it all back.

Iemitsu is not yet the man who’d been willing to fight his own son during the representative battles, but there’s a very real possibility he could become that person. And he’s almost certainly the man who’d been willing to let a group of top-level assassins flatten a bunch of fourteen-year-olds for some stupid inheritance rings that wouldn’t have even accepted Xanxus’ claim to the position of Vongola Decimo.

“I understand, Mama,” you say, resting your hand on Tsuna’s elbow to keep him from any rash declarations. He harbors far more outward resentment toward Iemitsu than you do, and is more likely to say something he’ll regret. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she says firmly. “None of this is your fault, or Tsu-kun’s either.”

“I know. It just,” you say, faltering. “It feels like it is sometimes.”

“No. _Never,_ ” says Mama, in a voice so strong and steady you nearly believe her. “It’s no one’s fault. There’s not always someone to blame when things go wrong.”

“Sorry—I mean, okay,” you say. Tsuna tugs on your arm and you belatedly realize you’re still holding onto him. “Oh. My bad. Um, Mama? Do you want us to help you with the rest of this?”

“No. But thank you for offering. You two are free to go,” says Mama, turning on the sink.

Tsuna tries to protest, but you pull him away from the kitchen before he can get more than a couple words out of his mouth.

“She just needs time to herself,” you say, sighing when Tsuna goes quiet. “I know. I don’t want Papa to come home either.”

Tsuna follows you quietly up the stairs, frowning all the way. He schools his expression before you open the door to your room, but there’s still a trace of discontent on his face. You feel it too, reflected in the way your hand clenches around the doorknob tighter than it normally would, the way your fingers tremble as you slowly push the door open.

“Hey!” Takeshi greets, waving you over. “Come here, Lambo-kun’s about to harvest the turnips.”

The Playstation 3 Mama bought for you looks older than it really is, courtesy of the many beatings it’s taken from Tsuna’s regular mishaps as a young child. The controllers are all on their last legs, but neither you nor Tsuna are willing to shell out a few thousand yen for more, and in recent years you’ve hardly touched the thing anyway. Lambo, though, will probably ensure that buying new ones is a necessity. He’s five years old, clumsy, and his fingers are sticky more often than they’re not. Disaster is guaranteed at this point.

“Turnips?” Tsuna asks, crossing the room and flopping down next to Takeshi. You follow at a more sedate pace, sitting down behind Lambo. “What’s this?”

“Mama bought Lambo a gardening game!” Lambo says, waving the controller around in the air. “Lambo is the number one farmer!”

He then proceeds to run around the field like a maniac, harvesting turnips willy-nilly; he misses more than he picks up, and at one point his inventory fills up and every turnip he harvests is immediately dropped back onto the floor.

“Lambo-kun, that’s not—” you try, but Hayato elbows you. When you look at him, he shakes his head with a panicked expression. “I mean. Uh. Good job, number one farmer!”

Lambo gives you a million-watt smile, nearly blinding you, and you resist the urge to coo at him, or scoop him into your arms. The tips of his fingers are stained a suspicious purple color, which indicates someone’s been giving him candy while you and Tsuna were downstairs, and you don’t want to have to do laundry so late in the day.

Your own, that is. You’re going to have to do Lambo’s for sure.

Eventually, Lambo’s energy and excitement begin to wind down, and Takeshi leaves for home. Mama pops into your room for a few minutes to collect Lambo and get him ready for bed, and then it’s just you and Reborn and Tsuna and Hayato, all four of you sprawled out in the middle of the floor.

“Mama said Papa’s coming home tomorrow,” says Tsuna. “I thought I should tell you.”

Hayato sits up, shaking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “Your father? Really? Oh—I mean—no offense, but, um.”

Tsuna sighs in frustration. “Believe me, none taken. I can’t believe he has the nerve to show his face after being gone for so long. He wanted Mama to tell me he was _dead_!”

The only reason he knows is because you’d eavesdropped on that conversation, and promptly told him in case Mama had taken Iemitsu’s suggestion to heart. Thank god she had never gone through with it.

While Tsuna complains to Hayato, who’s more than happy to lend him an ear, you turn to face Reborn and ask, “So, is Papa important in the mafia? Since he’s Primo’s descendant and all?”

“I would think that’s something he has to tell you himself,” says Reborn, instead of giving you an answer you can work with.

“Yeah, I should’ve known better,” you say, rolling over until you’re nearly touching Tsuna. He’s in the middle of ranting about Iemitsu’s supposed idiocy when you tap his shoulder and say, “It’s late. We need to finish our homework.”

Tsuna heaves an almighty groan. “Why can’t you forget about the homework for just _one_ day . . . ”

*

You’re too busy worrying about Iemitsu to pay attention in class. Hayato had borne witness to your fast-paced fretting this morning, and he keeps turning around in his seat to make sure you and Tsuna are okay. You smile at him every time, but the truth is you really aren’t doing that well at all.

Tsuna isn’t doing much better. None of you had gotten any kind of good sleep last night because Lambo had found his way into the stash of coffee candy you keep hidden under your bed, and had been bouncing off the walls until about three in the morning. You like Lambo, you really do, but he’s hard to handle at his best.

When the first class of the day ends, you slump over in your seat, thankful for the ten-minute break.

Iemitsu hasn’t been home in years. Last time you saw him, you still went by Chiyohime. You were, like, _nine._ Mama told you she called to tell him about your name change, but you can’t shake the horrible feeling that he might have forgotten, or worse, that he just doesn’t care.

Someone kicks your chair as they walk by; distantly, you register Hayato’s offended shout. You aren’t looking, but you’d have to be a fool not to recognize the screeching of his own chair as he pushes it back to stand up. He’s going to get himself in trouble. You should probably do something about it.

“Hayato!” you call, raising your head so you can get a look at him. You were just in time. He has his fist pulled back, ready to knock your classmate’s teeth out. “Stop. We aren’t even halfway through the day.”

With great reluctance, he sits down. You rest your head against the cool surface of your desk and try not to listen too much to the threats he’s directing at your classmates. It’s nice, on some level, that he does this for Tsuna—who’s still unused to people other than you standing up for him—but you can handle your own battles. You’re the one who should be looking out for Hayato, not the other way around.

You’re forced to sit up and pretend like you’re paying attention when Chisaka-sensei, the teacher, slides the classroom door open and walks in, looking hassled.

Math class goes the same way literature had. You zone out, barely keeping yourself awake, while Hayato looks toward the back of the class so often you’re starting to think he’ll give himself a sore neck. Chisaka-sensei, is much more aware of her surroundings—or maybe she just cares more about the behavior of her students—and so, after about the tenth time, she orders you, Hayato, and Tsuna to pack up your things and stand outside the classroom while the lesson continues.

Tsuna more than you is often punished for the various misbehaviors of his classmates, though you’re no stranger to taking the fall for others. It hadn’t happened as much in elementary, but since entering middle school and coming out and all the things that had followed, you’d been downgraded from “Dame-Tsuna’s poor sister,” to “Dame-Tsuna’s freaky confused sibling.”

It’s not fair that you’ve been sent out, but at least you aren’t in the classroom with everyone else.

Hayato, unaware of your inner relief, is horrified. “I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I got you two kicked out of class!”

“It’s okay,” Tsuna says tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “This happens to me all the time.”

“It shouldn’t.” Hayato scowls. “They shouldn’t just let people get away with bullying you! Do they have _any_ idea who they’re—” Anger chokes him up, stopping the flow of his words, and he’s left gesturing rudely with his hands.

“It doesn’t matter if they know I’m being trained to be Decimo,” Tsuna says, lowering his voice.

“That shouldn’t define his worth,” you agree. “They shouldn’t bully him because bullying is wrong. Not because he’s descended from Vongola Primo.”

“Y-You’re right, of course!” Hayato says quickly.

It had been kind of funny, originally, to see Hayato trip all over himself to agree with Tsuna, but seeing it right in front of you make you realize, with a sort of sad, slow understanding, that Hayato, like Tsuna, like Lambo, like Takeshi, is just a kid. One who has been raised to know his place, to obey those in power without a question, and to shape his worldview according to their command. Hayato is still learning how to be his own person, how to deal with his deep-seated anger and loneliness, and the only real frame of reference he has for good morals are Tsuna’s. Your own, too, but those tend to be . . . shaky, at best, and only involved when it concerns anyone you view as yours. You are not the best role model for him, nor do you even come close.

“Not like it’s ever going to stop,” mutters Tsuna.

Hayato hasn’t even opened up to you about his past yet. As far as Tsuna knows, Hayato is just his perpetually-angry bodyguard—

“I’ll make it stop,” Hayato promises. “If anyone bothers you, just give me their names!”

—with slightly codependent tendencies.

You and Tsuna might be the first people who’ve treated him decently in a good, long while. Hayato had lived with . . . oh, you’re gonna gag. He had lived with _Trident Shamal_ for a couple years after running away from home, and at some point he’d moved on to—what? Crashing in a lonely apartment in between jobs? Jobs. Has Hayato killed people? To be honest, that part of it doesn’t disturb you as much as it should; you’re mostly concerned about whether it’s had any lasting impacts on him.

“Unless you’re planning to personally assault every single student in Namimori Middle into submission, I don’t think that’s happening,” you say. “And they aren’t physically hurting us anyway. There’s no need to fight them.”

“Also, Takkun used to fight people for me if the teasing got really bad, and now they get bullied too,” Tsuna chips in.

“I . . . understand,” says Hayato finally, when the quiet has gone on for a little longer than is comfortable. “But if anyone _does_ try to hurt you, I’m not even going to think about restraining myself.”

“I don’t think either of us expect any different from you.” Tsuna sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Just maybe don’t take it out on the people here. They don’t . . . uh, they don’t—Takkun, what’s the word?”

“They don’t qualify as enough of a threat,” you say.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” says Tsuna.

“I don’t mean to say that we don’t need you to protect Tsuna at school. You can. And we want you to. Just not with your fists, please,” you say. “We’re glad to have you with us.”

Hayato smiles, finally joining the two of you on the floor. “Okay.”

Time drags by slowly. You realize the teacher probably has no plans of letting any of you back into the classroom until the period is over, which stings, and any time a student walks past you in the hall you either get weird looks or mean ones, depending on how well your passers-by know Tsuna.

The sound of the classroom door opening distracts you from attempting to break three pencils in half at once—which will force you to break into the box of school supplies in the storage room but it’ll be so worth it, you _need_ something to do with your hands—and the three of you look up in unison as Sasagawa Kyoko steps out of the room and into the hallway. She’s not in trouble; by the looks of it she’s delivering something to the faculty room.

She stops briefly to greet the three of you. “Hi, Gokudera-san, Sawada-kun, Sawada-san!” She glances back toward the classroom. “If you need, I can let you copy my notes after class.”

No one replies—Tsuna’s brain has gone into airplane mode because it’s rare for anyone outside your little group to even give him the time of day, and Hayato is staring at Kyoko with distrustful eyes. So it’s up to you.

“We would appreciate that a lot, Sasagawa-san,” you say.

“Okay!” says Kyoko, already heading down the hall. “I’ll be sure to remember!”

*

Reborn ambushes you in front of the school gates. Not you in particular, but your group; Hayato trailing at the back, keeping watch over everyone as per his bodyguard duties, Tsuna walking beside you, and you dragging your feet because you aren’t looking forward to going home and seeing your father. Takeshi’s baseball practice had been canceled today since the coach got sick and there’s no sub, but you and Tsuna decided not to invite him over. It just doesn’t seem like a good idea to have Takeshi and Iemitsu in the same room.

Reborn wastes no time climbing onto Tsuna’s head, sitting there like a living crown, and asking how the day went.

“There was a literature quiz today, wasn’t there?” asks Reborn.

“Yeeeees,” Tsuna says.

“How do you think you did?”

Tsuna pretends to break down into a crying fit, and Reborn shakes his head. That’s all the answer he needs.

You’re not wearing the uniform jacket today—you’d forgotten it at home—so when you raise your arms over your head to stretch, a little black mark on your elbow catches your attention. It takes a good deal of twisting to get to the point where you can see what’s gotten onto it. A spot of dirt? Some ink? No, you would have seen it this morning . . . while . . . oh, shit.

There’s a little black skull on the back of your forearm, bleeding over onto your elbow, with a speech bubble under it that reads simply, _I’m afraid of the dark._

“Reborn-sensei, there’s a skull on my arm,” you say, sticking your elbow out to show him. You are very, very close to flipping out. “Don’t read that. Is this what you were talking about?”

“You should know better than to tell me not to do something. But yes. Give me a moment,” Reborn says, pulling his phone out of a pocket so small it shouldn’t be able to hold anything that size. He taps something on the screen. “Shamal? Yeah. It happened. I’ll send you the address. No, I don’t care who you’re—no. No nonsense. Get over here.”

Wordlessly, Tsuna hands you his jacket. You think about refusing it, but in the end you take it from him and quickly shrug it on. There’s nothing you can do if one of the skulls appears on your face—you’ll just have to hope you get home before it happens.

“Takkun, what was that?” Tsuna asks, while Hayato moves to catch up with the two of you. “Are you hurt?”

“No! No. Reborn-sensei said it happens when you’re shot ten times with the Dying Will bullet,” you say. The idea that you’re going to be subject to Shamal’s scrutiny is deeply uncomfortable, and makes you wish you could fast-forward to this evening, just so you can get it over with. “It’s probably nothing serious, don’t worry.”

Reborn doesn’t contradict your statement, and it’s a good thing; Tsuna would react badly if told you had a fatal disease. Actually—is it even fatal? You wouldn’t put it past Reborn to lie about it just to see how you’d handle this.

Reborn catches you eyeing him and only gives you a mysterious smile. You hate that smile. It never promises anything good.

“Wait,” Hayato says, like he’s just come to a realization. He glares accusingly at Reborn. “Did you just say _Shamal_?”

“I did. He’s a reputable doctor, the best man for the job,” Reborn says. “You have a history with him, don’t you?”

“Who cares?” Hayato throws his hands up into the air, frustration writ across his face. “I don’t need a history to know he’s the biggest creep who ever walked this earth! What are you thinking, inviting him here? Nana-san could be home!”

“I’m thinking I know how to deal with this better than you do,” Reborn says, with an air of finality. “Shamal and I go back a long time. He won’t do anything while I’m there.”

Hayato grouches about it, but doesn’t complain for the rest of the walk.

The house is quiet when the four of you arrive home. That indicates Nana has taken Lambo somewhere—maybe she went to the airport with him to get Iemitsu?

Hayato and Tsuna hurry upstairs to get changed, Hayato leaving you with a promise that he’ll be down right away to “do damage control,” while Reborn herds you in the direction of the living room.

You shrug Tsuna’s jacket off to see that skulls are covering your entire arms—secrets ranging from _I can’t fall asleep without something to hug_ to _I think people will realize they don’t like me and leave me behind_ are written up and down your skin in dark, jagged characters.

That’s . . . wow.

You put the jacket back on.

“Reborn-sensei?”

“Yes?” answers Reborn, checking his phone.

“I’m not actually in danger, right?” you ask nervously. “It’s like—the common cold or something?”

Reborn shrugs. “Supposedly, Skullitis kills within two hours.”

With that, the doorbell rings, and Reborn hops off the couch, leaving the room.

You take a shaky breath in, and let it out in a whoosh that leaves you a little lightheaded. From what you remember, there had never been any confirmation or denial that Skullitis is a fatal disease. And, again, Reborn is definitely the type of person to treat it all as a test and lie to your face about it, simply to gauge your reaction.

Whether or not it will kill you, you have to trust Reborn to make sure you’re cured.

As Shamal walks into the room, you manage to keep yourself remarkably well-composed, considering the fear that’s been steadily building up inside you for the past five minutes.

“I told you, I only treat women,” Shamal says, scuffing his—oh God, he didn’t take his shoes off—scuffing his shoes along the floor.

“You’re going to make an exception for my student,” Reborn orders. “I don’t have time for any delays.”

Being in the same room as him makes your skin crawl. You don’t remember everything about him but you could never forget how much of a creep he was to every woman he came across.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shamal grumbles. Something makes a loud thump from upstairs, most likely Tsuna, and his face flickers with annoyance. “Lemme get a look at ‘em.”

You tense, shoulders hunching up to your ears as Shamal scans you with an assessing eye.

“Yep,” says Shamal. “Skullitis, all right. But like I said, I . . . hold on, what’s this?”

He leans in closer to you, and you attempt to merge with the sofa. You really don’t like the way he’s looking at you, an intense stare that gives you nowhere to run. His eyes are focused on one spot on your lower jaw, staring at it with an intensity that makes you feel like you’re going to turn inside out.

There must be something written there. You don’t want to know what he’s seeing. And the longer it goes on the more his gaze drifts until he’s looking you up and down, brow furrowed like he’s trying to figure something out and you can’t—you _can’t_ —you want to tell him to get away from you, but the words won’t come. In only a few seconds he’s lighted your mild anxiety into a wildfire of panic, and it burns and burns and _burns._

Shamal’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth, beginnings of a grin forming on his lips. “Say—”

Hayato arrives downstairs with a loud shout of, “SHAMAL, YOU BASTARD, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!” just as a bullet embeds itself into the wooden floor between Shamal’s feet. He curses, jumps out of the way of a second shot, and Hayato uses the distraction to tackle him.

You can’t follow Hayato’s conversation with the doctor. Your Italian is terrible, beyond basic greetings and farewells, so you’re lost when Hayato starts speaking the language rapid-fire. Honestly, you couldn’t keep up with a conversation even if it were in Japanese, English, or Vietnamese—you are brittle, and one wrong word could shatter you into a million billion pieces. Your arms refuse to relax; your throat is so dry you’re incapable of swallowing. You put your feet up onto the sofa, curling your legs protectively in front of you.

“R-Reborn-sensei.” The words are barely more than a whisper, and your weakness makes you angry. “Can we just get this out of the way? I’m—” Your voice breaks.

He sighs, and barks something in Italian at Shamal, who picks Hayato up by the collar of his shirt and deposits him in a heap onto the floor, where he sputters angrily for a few seconds before pulling himself to his feet.

“Fine, fine, I get it,” says Shamal. He draws a capsule out of one of the deep pockets in his lab coat and uncaps it; a mosquito makes its way toward you, slow and erratic in its flight. You watch, slightly horrified, as it lands on your hand and pierces your skin with its delicate proboscis. It takes all your self-restraint to prevent yourself from squishing it. “There. Done. Can I leave now?”

It flies away, back to Shamal. You have always hated insects, and now you’re never going to be able to see mosquitoes the same way again.

“Yeah, you can,” Hayato spits. “And while you’re at it, do me a favor and hop on the next plane back to Italy.”

Shamal stops. Turns around. “You know, when you speak to me with such disrespect, I can’t help but want to do the opposite. I think I’ll stick around for a while. Haven’t been to Japan in forever and Namimori is such a nice little—” _Bang!_ “Okay, Jesus, I get it. I’m outta here. Gimme a call if you need me. I’ll be in town for a couple months. Needed a vacation anyway.”

Before the door even closes behind him, Hayato is at your side. “That bastard didn’t try anything, did he?”

“No. He . . . he didn’t.” You resent the fact that Hayato even has to ask, that it’s so clearly obvious you’re—you’re—no. You won’t think about it _._ And he’d been right to worry because Shamal had definitely figured it out toward the end, and you _know_ deep down, with such conviction that it surprises you, he wouldn’t have let something like your personal identity get in the way of being the reigning creep champion of the world. “Thanks.”

“I apologize.” What? Did you hear right? Yes, Reborn should say sorry, even though the one who really owes you an apology is Shamal, but it still sounds weird coming from him—the kind of weird that makes you want to laugh until you puke. Or maybe that’s the anxiety. “I didn’t do enough to keep him in line. Excuse me for a moment.”

Reborn heads in the direction of the front door, probably to rip Shamal a new one. He deserves it. The doctor is gone, but you can still feel the weight of his stare all over you. It won’t go away no matter how many times you repeat to yourself, _he’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here_.

Tsuna comes downstairs while you’re in the midst of your panicky fog and immediately wraps you up in a big warm hug. You latch onto him, burying your face in his shoulder and shuddering as the heavy fear inside you begins to finally wear away. And hesitantly, slowly like he’s not sure whether he’s welcome, Hayato’s arms settle around you and he leans into your side. Your breath hitches. If you don’t get a hold of yourself you’re going to start crying, and you hate to cry in front of people. Tsuna and Hayato are steady by your side, not quite weathering the storm with you but making sure you don’t have to go through it alone. Bit by bit, the nervous fight-or-flight energy inside you begins to relax, and exhaustion seeps in to take its place, weighing down your limbs and evening out your breaths.

You don’t fight it when your eyes slide shut. You’re only halfway through the day and things have basically already gone to shit, not even accounting for Iemitsu coming home later. You _deserve_ to sleep.

*

“Takkun.”

“Mmm.”

“Takkun,” repeats Mama, a little more insistently, and shakes your shoulder gently until you blearily open your eyes.

For a moment you’re left floundering, wondering why everything is so warm and heavy and soft, until you remember Tsuna and Hayato are still cuddled up against you. Hayato is drooling on your shoulder, ew, and Tsuna’s legs are stretched out so that he’s pinning you to the couch. You won’t be able to get up without knocking him to the floor. It’s nice. Relaxing. _Yoursyoursyours_ clinging to either side of you, contentment in every fiber of your being. Makes you want to fall back asleep.

“We just got home,” Mama informs you. Lambo is sleeping in her arms, likely tired out from going with her to get Iemitsu from the airport. “Papa is still unpacking, but he’ll be out in the living room in a bit. You can all catch up.” She yawns heavily. “Airports always make me tired. Don’t be too loud out here, okay? I’m going to go take a nap with Lambo-kun. I’ll be up in time to get dinner going.”

“What time is it?” you ask, speech slurred.

“Four,” says Mama. “And wake Tsu-kun and Hayato-kun up too, if you can. Oh, I wish I still had my camera. You all are just so cute!”

You lean your head back and sigh, listening to the sounds of Mama’s retreating footsteps. You can also hear Iemitsu unpacking in the next room over; the door is open, and a bright column of light spills out into the downstairs hallway. He hums occasionally, loudly in a way that fills up the entire living room even though he’s not there, a wandering melody you’re familiar with but can’t quite grasp in its entirety. He must have seen your little puppy pile out here. You wonder how he feels about that, about Lambo, about the people you know will be arriving over the next few months.

“Reborn-sensei, you there?” you ask toward the empty room, hoping he’s somewhere in the vicinity.

“I’m here,” says Reborn, popping up from behind the other couch. “What?”

“Nothing.” You nudge Tsuna with your free arm, and he groans. “Just wanted to know if you were here.”

“I am always closer than you expect,” Reborn says. It’s probably meant to be scary, but oddly enough, it reassures you.

“Tsuuuuu-kun,” you say. “Get your legs off me, I need to go get water. And change my shirt.”

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbles.

“Move,” you repeat, moving your legs a little in an attempt to jostle him into awareness. “I’m gonna get up with or without you, you know.”

Tsuna’s arms tighten around you. “Noooo. Sleep,” he says, screwing his eyes shut.

“Okay.” You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. “You did this to yourself, though, so don’t complain to me.”

It takes a little while to wriggle out from underneath Hayato—who’s just as in your way as Tsuna is, but who deserves to stay asleep because Lambo had terrorized him the most last night—and to gently push him so that he’s leaning to the opposite side, but you figure it out eventually.

Tsuna is only able to get out a sleepy, “Huh?” before you rise, forcefully sending him crashing to the floor.

His subsequent yelp is loud enough to wake Hayato, who looks around the room, scanning it for danger and realizing after a few tense moments that nothing is amiss. He drags Tsuna up onto the couch, curling protectively around him. He blinks once at you, lethargic motion reminiscent of a trusting cat, before settling his head on Tsuna’s shoulder and falling back asleep with not so much as a single word. Tsuna pouts, but he’s already accepted his fate; he drifts off again in no time at all.

The noise must also have prompted Iemitsu to investigate—he’s standing in the entrance to the living room, looking inquisitively around. He lights up when he sees you’re awake, and you're not quick enough to stop him from crossing the room lifting you up in a hug so tight your back pops.

“Papa!” you whisper-shout, clawing at his arms in an attempt to escape the sudden physical contact. He is loud and strange and _NOT YOURS_ and if he doesn’t put you down you are going to _bite_ him. “Let me go!”

You’ve had it with the stress; first Shamal, and now your chronically absent father.

“Ah, Takkun, you were never this feisty when you were younger!” says Iemitsu, setting you down in front of him and grinning. So he _does_ remember your name. It’s a hollow comfort. “Aren’t you excited to see your Papa after so long?”

You glance away. “Uh.”

Iemitsu ruffles your hair and you try to swat his hand away, but he retracts it faster than your eye can follow. “No need to be embarrassed! C’mon, tell your old man how much you’ve missed him.”

“There has been something on my mind,” you say, looking everywhere but him.

“Oh? What is it?” Iemitsu asks, leaning forward like you’re about to share a juicy secret with him and not . . . well . . .

“The only reason you’re home is because we told Mama about Vongola, and you probably wouldn’t have even called for another few months if we hadn’t. You think everything will be okay if you come home and do your fatherly duties for a couple days and then disappear for another half a decade, don’t you?” You are fully aware you’re breaking so many rules of good etiquette at the moment. “Also, Tsu-kun and Hayato are sleeping, so keep it down. Tsu-kun wasn’t looking forward to this and I don’t wanna put him through it so soon if I can help it.”

“Oh. _That’s_ what it’s about.” Iemitsu’s expression darkens, and he crosses his arms. “So we’re getting into this, are we?”

“There’s nothing to get into,” you disagree, backing toward the stairs. He wouldn’t hurt you, but the sight of him standing there sets you on edge. “You’re here for Mama, not us. Tsu-kun doesn’t want your explanations and hasn’t since the last time you left.”

“It was what I had to do.” Iemitsu is standing his ground, and he’s not the airheaded father who had come home to see his family after a long time at his job, who had told his wife he was mining oil and expected her to believe it; he’s the Young Lion of the Vongola, unwilling to yield his stance. “I couldn’t leave your mother, but I also couldn’t drag her into this. It’s safe for her not to know. It keeps her happy. You’re not old enough to understand what you’ve done.”

With each word he says, your disdain and discomfort only grow.

“Yeah. Sure.” _I’m old enough to understand you shouldn’t lie to your wife for fourteen years,_ you want to say, but you’ve had enough of antagonizing him for today. You don’t want to continue this conversation, you don’t want to look at him, think about him, or even be near him. “Like I said, there’s nothing to get into.”

Iemitsu sighs through his nose, pulling an expression that tells you he isn’t taking you all that seriously. “You’ll understand eventually, Takkun. If you ever fall in love with anyone who isn’t neck-deep in the mafia, you’ll get it. And you’ll never want to tell them anything, because that’s part of protecting them. My entire—”

“I’m NOT going to fall in love with anyone. EVER. Just—just stop. I don’t want to talk to you.” You turn away from him, wiping at the angry tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He doesn’t get to see you cry. “I _knew_ it was gonna go like this.”

“I understand,” says Iemitsu, sounding unusually subdued. “We stopped at the market on the way home. Got you some persimmons. If you want them for a snack.”

It fucking burns that he still remembers your favorite fruit, still spares a thought toward buying it for you. It’s the only sign Iemitsu ever shows that he cares beyond the occasional greeting in a letter or honorable mention on a postcard. He only calls Mama. Only addresses his correspondences to Mama. Only spends time with her when he comes home, and he hasn’t even done _that_ for four years.

It’s the last straw; you begin to sob in earnest.

You want to stomp up the stairs, to show him how angry you are, but Mama and Lambo and Tsuna and Hayato are sleeping. You cry as you tread softly toward your room. It’s humiliating to cry in front of Iemitsu, to show him you’re human and can be hurt by his words. The last time he had come over, when you were nine, you’d barely spoken to him and had only eaten the persimmons because no one else likes them and you hate the thought of food going to waste. This time will be no different, except for if Mama asks you to get along with him.

. . . Reborn had also been out there, hadn’t he?

Your face flushes, a mixture of shame and anger as you make your way down the hall toward your room. Reborn isn’t the worst possible person who could have watched that, but you would have preferred that no one saw at all. The best you can do is hope he doesn’t bring it up later.

Actually, you should probably detour into the bathroom to wash your face. You do it quickly, scrubbing away at the tear-tracks with cold water, trying not to drip all over the counter but getting water everywhere regardless.

Your room is still messy from Lambo’s middle-of-the-night fit of hyperactivity, which means you have to step over multiple piles of clothing and miscellaneous junk before you reach the closet. Staying in the school uniform all day is uncomfortable. You’re glad for the chance to finally change.

You had left your bag downstairs, and you aren’t about to go get it, which means no homework.

With nothing better to do, you power on the Playstation and fish the one non-sticky controller out of the electronics box. The farming game has multiple saves, so you create a new file and temporarily lose yourself to the endless grind.

*

The door of your room slowly opens, and Tsuna pokes his head in. “Takkun, Mama says it’s dinnertime.”

“I—” You swallow. “I had a fight with Papa. I don’t think I can go down there right now.”

“Oh.”

Tsuna lets himself all the way in, and comes over to sit next to you and see what you’re doing on the television.

You’ve made amazing progress in the game. You’ve expanded your farm thrice, and you’ve moved on to growing watermelons rather than turnips. The profit is unbelievable, so good that you can’t grow anything but melons without bemoaning the loss of the money you _could_ have made.

“Wanna talk about it?” asks Tsuna.

“No,” you say, buying ninety packets of seeds from the general store. You have your fields on a rotation but somehow they had gotten de-synced, and you’re too lazy to fix it.

“Are you _sure_?” Tsuna crosses his legs, leaning back on his hands and fixing you with an uncharacteristically stern look. “Because you always tell me to talk about it. Even when I don’t want to.”

“That’s different. I’m allowed to be a hypocrite,” you say.

“Takkun . . . ”

“Okay, fine.” You save and quit the game. “I said to Papa that he’s only home because he has to try to fix things with Mama, and he didn’t want us to tell her anything. He said she’d be safer and happier, but I don’t see how just _knowing_ what we’re doing makes it any different.”

Tsuna nods, prompting you to go on.

“And you know how Mama’s been lately?” you say. “All, like, close and worried?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s because she _cares_ about us. We can talk to her about it! We’re including her in our lives because you’re stuck with this—this mafia stuff, and you know what I think?”

Tsuna frowns. “What do you think?”

“I think the reason Papa never comes back anymore is _because_ he keeps secrets. He kept it from her for so long he didn’t know how to face her and he has nothing to talk about except his job. We don’t know anything about him. Does he have friends? What does he like to do on days off? At least Mama has the people from her gardening group,” you say, gripping the controller so hard it creaks under the pressure. “But Papa doesn’t tell us _anything._ It keeps building up and building up.”

Your breath has gone all hiccupy again. You don’t want to cry for a second time; your eyes are starting to get sore from earlier.

“Hug?” Tsuna asks. “I mean—if that’s—”

“Hug,” you agree, dropping the controller and melting into his outstretched arms. Tsuna is thin, bony, not the best hugging material, but he means this with all his heart. That’ll always be a thousand times better than hugging anyone else. “And you know if there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here for you too.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re always there for me,” Tsuna says.

“As least one good thing came out of today,” you say, pulling back from him.

Tsuna tilts his head. “What?”

“I’m a millionaire in this stupid farming game now!” The light smack Tsuna delivers to the back of your head is worth the trouble; he’s laughing, and you don’t feel like a sack of crap anymore. “Okay, okay, jeez. Let’s go get dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment if you liked it!!! kudos are lovely but it makes my ENTIRE day when someone stops to write me some feedback!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i hit 69 works a few days ago which means i can never post anything new again
> 
> i'm sorry this took so long. i had some like really major struggles with this chapter, which ended up in me deleting 4k (all i had written) and rewriting it, saving only the best parts from the absolute DUMPSTER FIRE that was the first draft. so, as an apology, please accept this 10.5k chapter.
> 
> i’ve also made some changes to this fic - nothing major that would warrant a reread, but basically i deleted harmonization. i realized i didn't really have a clear idea of what i wanted from it, and i was mainly putting it in my fic because a lot of people like and use that fanon. it seemed cool and exciting at first, but it was restricting me more than it was helping me, so poof! gone.
> 
> the song recs for today are [Late Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUP3HS8_uso) by Foals and [Panic Switch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVCOXuMS6uA) by Silversun Pickups.

Haru calls you early Sunday morning, asking to hang out. It provides you with a wonderfully convenient excuse to avoid spending time with Iemitsu, who had been glued to your mother like a leech last night, talking non-stop about “spending some good ol’ times together with tyouhe family.” He had failed to deliver after passing out drunk shortly past nine in the evening.

“Lambo-kun likes cake, right?” she asks. “My dad forgot I don’t like carrot cake and he bought an entire one and I’d feel bad if it went to waste.”

“Are you kidding me? He loves cake,” you say, and then, taking the phone away from your ear, you order, “Lambo-kun, get dressed. Miura-san’s gonna do the measurements for your cat costume today.”

During one of your park meet-ups over the past week, the subject of conversation had turned toward hobbies—of which you have shamefully few, and Haru has astoundingly many. Chief among her hobbies are sewing and costume design. Haru had told you she does costume work for Namimori North Elementary’s school plays, and had shown you the album of pictures she keeps. Lambo, spoiled as ever, had demanded for a costume of his own. Though you’d gently reprimanded him for asking so rudely, Haru had laughed it off and agreed.

“The Great Lambo doesn’t want to get dressed!” Lambo half-yells, bouncing at the end of your bed.

You roll your eyes. “If the _Great Lambo_ wants to be a little kitty-cat, he’ll get dressed right now. Otherwise, he can stay home with Papa and Mama. And did I mention there’s carrot cake at Miura-san’s house?”

“Cake!” Lambo says joyfully, clambering down from your bed and immediately making a beeline for his dresser. At least he’s predictable. “Can I get a lot?”

“Ask Miura-san,” you say. “ _Nicely._ ”

“Okay, awesome,” Haru says, reminding you that she’s still on the phone. “I’m so excited!! It’s been forever since I made something not for school. The last one was . . . ugh, I can’t—” She breaks off suddenly. “Yes, Dad! I already called them and—sorry, Sawada-san, I gotta go. I’ll text you my address. See you soon!”

The line goes dead.

Your phone dings a couple seconds later with a message from Haru. Oh, good—her house is in a familiar neighborhood.

While Lambo pulls on his favored cow-print onesie, you glance toward Tsuna, who’s working on a weekend homework packet under Reborn’s supervision. “Hey. Tsu-kun. Do you wanna go to Miura-san’s house too? I’m sure she’d welcome you.”

“Uh . . . not really?” Tsuna says. He attempts to set his pencil down, but Reborn thwacks his wrist with a ruler. “She’s more your friend than mine.”

“She _could_ be your friend,” you say, hoping he’ll change his mind. You like Haru, but hanging out at the park with her and going to her house are two entirely different levels of friendship; from what you’ve gathered, her dad’s home too, and the anxiety bubbling in your chest spikes sharply when you think about meeting Miura senior. You _have_ to go—this is for Lambo’s sake, after all—but you’d rather not do it alone. And . . . if you’re being totally honest, you still get jumpy whenever you and Tsuna are separated. Stupid Cloud Flames. And stupid Reborn, for shooting him in the first place and making you get all paranoid. “I bet you’d get along really well with her!”

“Try another day, Takahisa,” Reborn says, shaking his head. “Tsunayoshi isn’t going anywhere until he catches up on this week’s work. Ask Hayato to go, if you need a chaperone.”

Tsuna smiles sheepishly at you. Somehow, that one expression is enough to soothe most of your worries. Reborn and Mama are with him; he’ll be fine.

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that,” you say. Hopefully the prospect of hanging out with Lambo won’t scare Hayato away. “Lambo-kun, stop messing with the blinds and come here. We’re leaving now. Tsu-kun, want me to get you anything while I’m out?”

“Can you stop by the bakery?” Tsuna asks, while Lambo dejectly stops trying to tear out the cords and comes over to grab your hand. You’re going to have to go over the concept of property destruction with him again. “I want a muffin _so_ bad, but Lambo-kun broke the pan.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. Lambo had been trying to help Mama clean up the kitchen, but he’d gotten distracted and had ended up throwing kitchen tools out of your window for fun. Included in the list of casualties had been the good bread pans, two pairs of tongs, and Mama’s favorite mixing bowl. “Blueberry?”

“Whatever you think looks good,” he says. “Can—”

Reborn smacks Tsuna’s head with the ruler. You can’t quite suppress a sympathetic wince. “If you have enough time to run your mouth about muffins, you have enough time to finish this. Also, Takahisa, pick up some chocolate cake for me.”

You wait. After a few seconds, Reborn glances at you. “What are you still doing here?”

“Do you expect me to pay for you?” you ask.

“Yes. I thought that was obvious.” Reborn turns his back to you again, pointing out an error on Tsuna’s worksheet. “Go on, shoo.”

“Miser,” you mutter.

“Um, Takkun? Pot, kettle,” Tsuna says. You facepalm. You’d walked right into that one. “I _cannot_ believe I just heard you say that.”

“What’s pot kettle?” asks Lambo.

“It’s when Takkun is being a hypocrite,” Tsuna explains.

“What’s a hypocrite?”

Tsuna’s expression morphs into his I-forgot-you-were-a-little-kid face. “Uh, it’s when you say one thing, but you do something else. Like how Takkun just told Reborn he was being too selfish about money, but they’re even worse than him.”

“Oh. Why’d you do that, Taka?” Lambo asks, squeezing your hand a little.

“Because I’m stupid,” you sigh. “Wait—”

“No!!!” Lambo cries. “You can’t say that! That’s mean!”

Woe is you for attempting to teach Lambo proper manners. You can’t crack self-deprecating jokes around him anymore or he’ll get mad at you for bullying yourself. “It’s okay, Lambo-kun, I was only kidding.”

“Don’t care! You have to say sorry,” commands Lambo. “Or the Great Lambo will stop being your friend.”

“Oh, no! That would be terrible! I’m so sorry, Takahisa,” you say exaggeratedly. “You happy now?”

“Yes!” Lambo cheers. “Let’s go get cake now! Cake!”

“All right, all right,” you say, smiling. “Piggyback ride down the stairs? Wanna play the balance game?”

“Yes!” Lambo says, and you crouch to let him clamber up onto you.

Sometime last week, Reborn had introduced Lambo to the balance game; the goal is to knock you down while you’re on the staircase, through any means possible. You suspect it has less to do with helping you and more to do with Reborn’s own personal messed-up sense of humor, but Lambo likes it too much for you to raise any real complaint.

As you exit into the hallway, and Lambo prepares to give you hell, you note that Hayato’s door is open, which means he must be downstairs or out. But he never goes out without letting you and Tsuna know, so he’s probably downstairs—with Iemitsu and Mama, maybe? Although, beyond a few minutes of badly-concealed interrogation over dinner last night, Iemitsu seems content to leave Hayato to his own devices. He’s not family—not to your father, at least—so Iemitsu doesn’t have to give him the same bare minimum of emotional investment he’s put into your and Tsuna’s lives.

“Okay. Ready?” you ask, eyeing the stares with suspicion.

It’s Sunday, which means that, in theory, Reborn shouldn’t have set up any booby traps. In practice, however . . .

“Ready!” Lambo says.

The first step you take is suspiciously peaceful—aside from the maniacal child hellbent on making you topple over—and the second, and the third and fourth and fifth, until you’re halfway down the stairs, struggling desperately to stay upright under Lambo’s onslaught of jostling, without incident.

Almost there. Almost, almost—

_Twang._

Fuck.

Your foot snags on a fine tripwire, nearly invisible with how thin it is, and something huge and fluttery and soft falls down to smack you in the face, obscuring your vision. It also allows Lambo to get the upper hand, and he wrenches you to the side, laughing gleefully all the while.

“Lambo-kun,” you wheeze, grabbing for the piece of fabric covering your face. “Ease off a little.”

“‘Kay!” he chirps, going limp. That isn’t much better, because now you have to carry his dead weight the rest of the way down, but it’s something.

When you get to the bottom of the stairs, you unfurl the cloth, emitting an incoherent noise of offense when you read what it says.

**CONGRATULATIONS YOU LOSE**

“I DIDN’T LOSE, YOU CHEATED!” you shout up the stairs. With a deep breath, you wrestle your temper under control. “Lambo-kun, can you help me find Hayato?”

“Don’t wanna find Stinky Hayato,” Lambo mutters as you let him off your back.

“That’s a new one. Lambo-kun, do you remember why it’s bad to call people mean names?” you ask.

“Because they won’t wanna be nice to you either,” Lambo says, pouting mulishly up at you. “I’m not gonna be friends with Stinky Hayato! I don’t care if he’s mean to me!”

The frustrating thing about it is you can’t force them to get along. So even though you’d rather that your people all got along with each other, you’re just going to have to accept that Hayato and Lambo will never be as close to each other as you and Lambo, or even Tsuna and Lambo are.

“I know,” you say, hoping to sound reassuring. “Can you be nice to him for me, though? Please?”

“ . . . Fine,” Lambo says, harrumphing quietly. “Only because Taka is the best!”

“Thank you, Lambo-kun,” you say, trying not to smile because you know he’d think you’re laughing at him. “Now let’s find Hayato.”

Hayato, as it turns out, is studying at the table in the dining room. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose, looking like they’ll fall off any second, and his face is scrunched up in concentration. Every so often he scribbles something down onto the paper in front of him, but for the most part he seems to be lost in his thoughts.

“Hey, Stinky!” Lambo says, breaking the silence without a thought for Hayato’s mental processes.

Hayato’s gaze snaps over to Lambo, and he growls. He stands up with enough force to nearly knock his chair over. “Ugh! You little idiot, I’m trying to—o-oh! Hi, Takahisa!” He looks at you, a little panicked, before settling back on Lambo. “ . . . Sorry. I guess.”

You quirk a smile when Lambo blows a raspberry at Hayato. You figure you can let them be, and if they cross over into saying actually hurtful remarks, you’ll step in.

“Do you want to come over to Miura-san’s house with me?” you ask, quickly adding, “You don’t have to! Just, I thought you might wanna get out of the house. Also, she has carrot cake?”

It feels shameful to admit you’re scared of going alone, so you keep that little bit to yourself.

Hayato takes another dubious look at Lambo, but slowly nods his head. “Of course I’m coming! How could I do my duties as a bodyguard if I wasn’t around to protect you? Let me put this all away first, though.”

You’re pretty sure he really only needs to stick around to guard Tsuna, but trying to deter Hayato when he gets all protective is like trying to demolish a brick wall by asking nicely for it to fall down. Not. Gonna. Happen.

While Hayato gathers up his things and takes them up to his room, you play super slide with Lambo.

“Slide, slide, super slide—”

The English feels clumsy in your mouth from years of disuse, and it’s clumsier in Lambo’s, whose family either hadn’t bothered or hadn’t had the opportunity to teach him more than basic greetings and farewells.

You’ve forgotten how the rest of the rhyme goes, but there’s definitely something in there about skipping five, which you mumble quietly as Lambo plays along. The memories you have of playing this game are hazy, lost to the years before you were Takahisa.

“ . . . uh . . . something something don’t say five . . . let’s go!”

Lambo isn’t very coordinated and he keeps forgetting to skip five, so by the time Hayato gets back—with a sweater on that he hadn’t been wearing before—you and Lambo have only gotten to seven, and the backs of your knuckles are stinging because Lambo has no sense of restraint whatsoever and will slap his hands against yours as hard as physically possible.

“Gimme a moment to tell Mama we’re going,” you say, motioning with both your hands for Hayato and Lambo to go put their shoes on.

You poke your head into the living room. The television drones in the background, playing an early-airing drama Mama’s been loosely following for a while. At the coffee table, she and Iemitsu are playing a card game you’re unfamiliar with, talking in hushed tones to each other. Mama has a secretive smile on her face, and Iemitsu chuckles quietly whenever he puts a card down, shoulders shaking in a way that suggests he’s trying to refrain from his usual boisterous belly-laugh.

You call out to them, saying, “Miura-san invited me over to her house to get the measurements for Lambo’s costume. Hayato is coming with me. We’ll probably be home in a couple hours, but I’ll call you if it looks like I’ll be out past lunch.”

“Oh! Have fun!” Mama says, as Iemitsu turns to look at you. “Miura-chan is such a sweet girl. You should really bring her over for dinner again sometime. It was a treat to have her over.”

“Out?” Iemitsu asks, sitting upright. “I thought we could—today—well, don’t you want to spend some time together as a family?”

“You’re not even dressed properly, honey, and Lambo-kun has been waiting for this,” Nana chides gently, before you can say some stupid shit like “no, not really.” Iemitsu ducks his head, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck, and it should be familiar, safe, and cozy, but the only thing you can muster up for him is faint discomfort. “Let’s talk about plans after Takkun and Hayato and Lambo get home, all right? I’m sure we can find something to do.”

“Ah. You’re right as always, Nana,” Iemitsu says, relaxing back into the couch. You hadn’t missed the way his expression flickered when Mama mentioned Lambo and Hayato. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe you’re seeing things, but either way it sends a twist of unease running through you. “Have fun, then!”

He seems so content to put on the silly air-headed father act today, the one who loves nothing more than his wife and kids. He’s nothing like the man he had been last night, the one who’d had you taut as a drum with anxiety, whose eyes were sharp and challenging and darkly calculating. Part of you is worried it’s not an act, and that he’s truly, genuinely both of these people. It’s difficult for you to accept that he loves you and at the same time is willing to hide things to keep you and Tsuna and Mama safe from danger. That he cares for you, about protecting you, and genuinely wants to act like a father figure, but will also spend years away from home and then return and expect everything to be fine.

“We will,” you say.

Hayato and Lambo are waiting for you by the door, and neither of them say anything as you pull your shoes on. In a way, you appreciate their silence, even if it’s stony and they keep glaring at each other, but having the quiet means your thoughts are so much louder in contrast.

Usually, trips out of the house are accompanied by aimless chatter, meaningless to-and-fro that accompanies you all the way to the gate. Today it’s silent, your mood soured by Iemitsu’s temporary presence in your life. To some extent, Lambo seems to have picked up on it—he makes no demands for your attention until you’re well past the corner of your street, and even then, all he asks is for you to pick him up and carry him.

After about a half-kilometer of walking, the rough awkwardness of the silencee slowly smooths away, helped along by Hayato, who’d started humming a little while back. It’s a cheerful melody, sounds like a children’s song; whatever it is, it’s calming.

Eventually, you relax enough to start making conversation. Lambo jumps in right away, eager to talk your ear off about whatever’s on his mind, and from that point on until you reach Haru’s house, the air is filled with a nonstop stream of chatter.

*

You dither in front of the doorbell for what feels like ages, trying to wrestle down the anxiety welling up inside you. Eventually Hayato becomes sick of it and leans forward to press it himself. For one horrible moment the anxiety rushes to your head in a dizzying sweep and you think it’ll spill over—but it dies down when Hayato bumps you with his shoulder.

You’re going to be okay. You take deep breaths, bracing yourself as the faint sound of footsteps draws nearer and nearer.

“Thanks,” you say.

Hayato grunts in response, but the set of his face is soft, open and unguarded. He looks happy, and that makes _you_ happy.

When Haru opens the door, she’s slightly frazzled and out of breath.

“Hi, Sawada-san!” she says, grinning and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looks past you, at Hayato, and makes a little noise of surprise. “I didn’t know you were bringing Gokudera-san over.”

Something that had surprised you about Haru had been that she’d stopped talking in third-person a couple days into knowing her. The change had been jarring and abrupt, and although you’re not entirely sure it would be socially acceptable to just come right out and ask, you can’t help but wonder.

“Hi, Miura-san,” he mumbles, although it seems it’s more from embarrassment than hostility. “Thanks for having us over.”

“Sorry,” you say, smiling fondly as Lambo leaps toward Haru, nestling himself comfortably in her arms. A glance back at Hayato reveals he’s got his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, looking vaguely apologetic. “I didn’t mean to forget.”

“It’s okay! I just didn’t expect it. Your family’s always welcome here, Sawada-san,” Haru reassures, opening the door all the way and stepping back to let you and Hayato in. “Want cake? My dad said it’s okay to eat in the sewing room as long as you’re clean about it.”

“Yes!” Lambo says, squirming around in Haru’s hold. He cranes his head back and forth like he expects the cake to walk into the room. “Haru-nee, where is it??”

Haru looks about five seconds away from passing out of sheer cute overload, but manages to power through it. “In the kitchen, Lambo-kun! I’ll take you right now.”

Fifteen minutes later finds the four of you in the sewing room, Lambo stuffing his face with cake while Haru gets to work. You aren’t eating any because eating before a walk always gives you cramps, and you have that trip to the bakery to think about, but Hayato, sitting beside you, has no such limitations. He’s steadily making his way through a generous slice of carrot cake, eating with the same methodical precision he employs for important tasks.

That’s fair. Cake is pretty important.

“Sorry you had to come all the way over just for this,” Haru says, directing Lambo to hold his leg out straight and putting the measuring tape up against it. She squints and takes down the number onto a piece of scrap paper.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you say. “This is all for Lambo-kun, after all. I need to ask you again, though—are you _sure_ you’re okay with doing it for free?”

Living a past life with a friend who constantly undervalued her own arts and crafts has instilled within you a deep need to compensate people for their creativity, strong enough to beat out your tendency to keep your money close.

“Of course!” Haru says, like the very notion offends her. “I’m _not_ backing down on this.”

“All right,” you agree, putting your hands up in surrender. “I’m thankful, and I’m sure Lambo-kun is too.”

“Thanks, Haru-nee!” Lambo says, on cue.

Haru laughs brightly, patting him lightly on the cheek. “You’re welcome. Okay, hold still for juuuuust one moment for me—okay! All done!”

“Yay!” Lambo makes a beeline for the cake he’d had to put down.

Meanwhile, Hayato is inspecting—presumably—one of Haru’s creations, a full suit of armor resting on a wooden rack.

“Did you make this?” he asks. “It’s impressive that you can work with metal.”

“Yup!” Haru says cheerfully. “It’s actually foam, though.”

“It’s _what?_ ” Hayato leans closer. “Holy . . . ”

“Impressive, right? It took me suuuper long to get it shiny like that,” Haru says, beaming proudly. “And I kept messing up on the gauntlets, so it took even longer. Finger joints are so. Difficult.”

“This is amazing, Miura-san,” Hayato says. “Can I take a picture?”

“You’re so sweet, Gokudera-san. Of course you can! Don’t post it anywhere though. Oh, Sawada-san, do you want to take the rest of that home?” Haru asks. “I mean, the cake.”

Lambo turns to you with pleading eyes. “Pleeeeease, Taka!”

“If it’s okay with you,” you say. “I uh, can’t stay for long though. I need to go to the bakery and then get home. I think my dad wants to do something with the family today.”

“Oh!” Haru says, eyes widening. “I don’t want to keep you here, then! I’m gonna get the cake for you!”

Haru sweeps past you and Hayato like a whirlwind, taking his plate with her and disappearing in the next second. Lambo trails after her, bounce in his step and smile on his face, and you are so, _so_ glad for Haru. Lambo deserves all the family he can get.

A minute later, the sound of the door creaking open catches your attention, but instead of Haru coming back into the room, it’s an older man who you can only assume is her father.

“H-Hi!” you say, jumping up from the stool you’d been sitting on.

“You must be Sawada-kun,” Haruyoshi says, adjusting his glasses to get a look at you. He nods, and turns toward Hayato. “And who’s this? Haru didn’t mention bringing anyone else over.”

“Gokudera Hayato,” Hayato introduces, bowing briefly. “I’m Takahisa’s . . . friend. Thank you for letting us come over.”

It kind of astounds you, how quickly Hayato can go from being . . . well, from being Hayato, to being who you’re seeing in front of you. Maybe it’s a result of growing up in a mafia household, of knowing when to bend to authority—though from your experience, Hayato would just as soon tell authority to _get_ bent. Or maybe it’s your presence, and the fact that Hayato being rude to Haruyoshi would probably cause you to lose Haru’s friendship.

“What a polite young man,” Haruyoshi says. “I’m Miura Haruyoshi, but I’m sure you already knew that. Now, I don’t want to keep you kids—just had to see who my little girl was making friends with. Stay safe on the walk home, you hear?”

You and Hayato nod dutifully, and he returns the gesture, albeit a bit awkwardly. The three of you stand in silence for a couple seconds before he shuffles out of the room, performing an odd hand-wavy gesture as he disappears from sight.

“Do you think we should go find Miura-san? Junior, I mean,” you ask. “I’m kind of worried about leaving Lambo-kun alone with her.”

Hayato scowls, not quite managing to rein in his distaste. “Yeah, before he destroys the entire house.” He’s mostly likely still bitter from Lambo keeping him up all night, the night before last—you can’t exactly fault him for it.

The layout of the house is fairly straightforward, and it’s a good thing too—you’d be completely lost otherwise. Unfamiliar surroundings tend to disorient you; the only reason you’d made it to Haru’s house is because you often walk through her neighborhood on the way to school. As it is, you nearly go in the wrong direction twice. Hayato has to redirect you each time, gently tapping you on the shoulder to tell you you’re taking a wrong turn.

Haru looks up as the two of you enter the kitchen. She’s finished boxing up the cake, and is shuffling around in the cabinets, seemingly searching for something.

“Hey, guys!” she says, looking slightly guilty. “Did I take too long? I was trying to find a treat for Lambo-kun, but I think Dad might have eaten all the candy . . . ”

“Actually, that’s probably for the better,” you say, picking Lambo up. He settles into your arms easily enough. “He probably shouldn’t have any more sugar for a little while.”

“The Great Lambo loves sugar,” Lambo says, but his heart just isn’t in it. The walk here must have tired him out, and he gets sleepy whenever he eats. Double whammy. “Want candy.”

Before you can decline his request, he puts his head down on your shoulder. You can’t see his face past the wild tangle of curls atop his head, but he’s probably got his eyes closed, and is starting to drift off.

“Hayato, can you get the cake? My hands are kind of—” You gesture towards the sleeping child in your arms. He picks up the cake without complaint, and you spare him a smile. “Also, Miura-san, thanks so much again. Lambo-kun’s gonna be really happy, I know it.”

Haru blushes, covering her cheeks with her hands and letting out a sound of embarrassed delight. “It’s nothing. Really. I love making costumes. Ah . . . let me take you to the door!”

She speedily bustles you, Hayato, and Lambo toward the front of the house, thanking you for coming over and telling you to let Lambo know she’s going to stock up on grape candy for next time he comes over.

Despite your worry over how it would turn out, you’d actually had fun. Haruyoshi had been kind, even if he had seemed a bit out-of-touch, and Hayato had been a constant presence throughout the entire time there, reminding you that you weren’t alone.

You smile.

Having friends is . . . sort of awesome.

*

It’s half past ten by the time you get to the bakery, and Lambo’s short nap has revitalized him. As soon as you walk through the door, he runs up to the pastry display case. It’s only your firm hand on his shoulder that stops him from smearing his hands all over the pristine glass.

Lambo is still learning not to touch what isn’t his; in public he does mostly okay with only a few slip-ups, but at home you can’t leave him alone for five minutes without him quietly stealing your or Tsuna’s things.

“Do you want anything?” you ask Hayato.

“Me?” he says, subtly glancing around like he thinks there’s someone else you’re talking to. “I don’t want to be any trouble—”

“Come on, man, I’m offering,” you say. “I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to. Seriously.”

“I guess . . . a strawberry cake would be nice,” he says, ducking his head and staring at his shoes as if they hold the answers to the universe.

You rattle everything off to the cashier behind the register, but when you get to “blueberry muffin,” they smile apologetically.

“I’m sorry. We’re out of those right now,” they say. “But if you’re willing to wait about fifteen minutes, our next batch is almost done!”

“Sure,” you say, forking over a couple thousand yen. “The fresh ones are the best.”

They give you your change with another apology. “I’ll let you know as soon as they’re done.”

You lead Lambo over to a seat by the wide window, and pull out your phone as you sit down. You have . . . wow, that’s kind of a lot. Seven unread messages from Tsuna.

 **Tsu-kun:** holy crap takkun  
 **Tsu-kun:** mama and papa just had a fight  
 **Tsu-kun:** like a FIGHT fight???  
 **Tsu-kun:** i think they made up now but like  
 **Tsu-kun:** mama was mad  
 **Tsu-kun:** i went downstairs to get a snack?? and like… mama was asking me how everything was going. u know like with reborn and stuff. bc we didn't really get to talk about it before. and papa kept trying to change the subject cause idk he’s dumb. but she noticed and she was like why are u changing the subject. and papa was like “well it shouldn’t be something tsu-kun should burden you with it’s his responsibility” and she just goes. like quietly like she’s mad. “he’s my son too and i deserve to know about his life, at least” and then she told me to go upstairs but i eavesdropped because i’m horrible  
 **Tsu-kun:** anyway mama’s kind of a badass and u should probably come home soon

 **You:** are you okay???

 **Tsu-kun:** yeah just weirded out  
 **Tsu-kun:** like really weirded out kind of like that feeling when u see ur teacher at the grocery store

 **You:** i’ll be home in like half an hour. they were out of blueberry muffins so i have to wait for a new batch.

 **Tsu-kun:** oh yummy  
 **Tsu-kun:** it’s kind of tense downstairs i checked a little while ago and they’re sitting together but they’re not saying anything and it’s weird  
 **Tsu-kun:** i don’t like when mama doesn’t say anything she ALWAYS says stuff  
 **Tsu-kun:** like it’s literally silent downstairs now. mama doesn’t look mad anymore but she sure doesn’t seem happy!!!

 **You:** breathe.

 **Tsu-kun:** ok. ok i’m breathing. im fine  
 **Tsu-kun:** maybe warn hayato tho  
 **Tsu-kun:** also give mama a hug when you get home i think she needs one and i’m not that good at it

 **You:** you’re great at hugging.

 **Tsu-kun:** not the point but thanks

 **You:** you’re welcome.  
 **You:** gotta go now, the muffins are finished. i’ll tell hayato to maybe tread carefully. does this mean “family time” is cancelled?

 **Tsu-kun** : cancelled to the max lmao  
 **Tsu-kun:** bye bye stupid see u at home

 **You:** i hate you.

*

Tsuna had been right—the house is strangely quiet when you get home. Mama always carries an air of ambient chatter around her, small sounds like the turning of a page, a clanking pot, rustling cloth. Today there’s none of that.

She’s sitting in the living room by herself. Iemitsu is out of sight, but considering his shoes had been in the walkway you’re fairly sure he’s home, unless he’d taken off from the house completely barefoot.

“Hi,” you say, while Hayato heads off to put the cake away. Lambo follows him, no doubt in a bid to score some more sweets for himself. “Um, is everything okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yes,” Mama says, looking up at you. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Mama says firmly. “Tsu-kun probably filled you in about everything, so I don’t doubt you have some idea of what’s going on. But this is between your Papa and me. You’re my child, Takkun. It means a lot that you care about me, but I can look after myself.”

“Oh—um—okay,” you say. “I . . . I brought home some carrot cake from Miura-san’s house, if you want any.”

“All right,” Mama says, serene and patient. How can she stand to be so calm, so peaceful and happy-looking in front of you? How is it not tearing her up inside? “Will you tell Lambo-kun to come to the living room? I need to take him out to buy clothes.”

At least you can be of some use to her. “Okay!”

In the kitchen, Lambo is attached to Hayato’s leg, gnawing at the fabric of his pants.

“Oh my god! Lambo-kun, no!”

It takes a combined mix of you prying each of Lambo’s individual limbs off and Hayato near-violently shaking his leg to finally get the little hellion to let go. Lambo pouts at you, clearly conveying his displeasure, as Hayato shoves the cake in the fridge.

“You,” he says threateningly, jabbing a finger in Lambo’s direction. “Try that again and I’m taking every single piece of junk food in this house and blowing it up in the backyard. That is a _promise._ ”

“You’re a MEANIE!” Lambo wails, hands bunched in the front of your shirt, face red with anger. “I WANT CAKE!”

Best get him to Mama now; this is far outside of your area of expertise.

She takes him without a complaint, murmuring soothing words to him until his cries die down. Mama is scarily good with kids.

“Well. Maybe the shopping will have to wait until later,” she says, getting up from the couch and carrying him towards her room. “It seems Lambo-kun is overdue for a nap.”

“Good riddance,” Hayato says darkly. “ _Mio Dio,_ I swear he’s got it out for me. He never does this to Tsuna.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re an easy target,” you suggest.

Hayato twitches. Oops. “Che. Whatever. I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.”

With that, he takes his leave, stomping up the stairs perhaps a tad louder than is necessary. You can’t blame him, though. Lambo has given him enough grief to last a lifetime, all in the span of the previous forty-eight hours.

You do a loop-around to the kitchen to pick up Tsuna’s muffin and Reborn’s cake, and haul ass up the stairs, careful not to drop anything. You’ve had quite enough of being downstairs for today, and to be honest you’re steadily approaching your limit for social interaction for the day. You’d rather hide out somewhere by yourself to recharge, but hanging out with Tsuna is the next best thing.

Some fancy footwork is required to get the door open. The cake containers are kind of weirdly shaped, making it impossible to carry two in one hand unless you have really big hands. The only solution is grab the doorknob with your foot and carefully turn, praying to every god you know of in hopes of keeping your balance.

After a good fifteen seconds of careful maneuvering, you manage to crack the door open.

Tsuna is sprawled out on the floor, carefully shaping a Flame in his hands. Reborn watches over him with eagle-eyed precision, occasionally telling him to make the Flame bigger or smaller.

“What’s up?” you ask, kicking the door shut behind you. “Everything okay up here?”

Tsuna yelps, and the Flame sputters. “You scared me!”

“Good,” you say, setting the goodies down onto the table. “Here’s the stuff. Is it safe to practice in here?”

“It’s hard to make them burn,” Tsuna says. “Like, I don’t think that’s what they’re supposed to do.”

“Sky Flames are so rare, it’s hard to get a grasp on their function,” Reborn supplies. “In addition to that, every person I’ve met who possesses a Sky Flame has used it differently. There’s no cut-and-dry method.”

“What he means is I’m on my own to figure this out, which, like, royally sucks,” Tsuna says. “Hey, can I take a break?”

“I suppose you’ve earned one,” Reborn says magnanimously. The scene is ruined, of course, due to the chocolate cake crumbs smeared along the edges of Reborn’s mouth.

“ _Yes!_ ” Tsuna cheers, diving for the muffin. The next thing he says is through a mouthful of blueberry goodness. “Miff’ muff’ fo fad.”

“I know you did. Hey, Reborn-sensei, do I have to do anything today?” you ask.

“Consider yourself lucky. I couldn’t contact Hibari. You’re free to partake in recreational activities, provided you’re finished with your homework packet.”

“I did that on Friday. I think Hibari-senpai’s having his cast cut off today,” you say. “He told me to, uh. Prepare myself next week ‘cause he wouldn’t be forced to hold back anymore. Which is a really weird way to say it, but he’s Hibari-senpai, so I guess that’s normal for him.”

Your piece said, you instantly go for the PS3. You hate to admit it, but you’re hooked on this shitty game.

Half an hour later, as you’re calculating how much of your inventory you can clear out to go fishing because for some reason fish don’t stack, Tsuna completely derails your thought process by saying, “Hey Takkun, how do you make friends?”

“What?”

“Like . . . how do you make friends?”

“By being nice?”

“No!” Tsuna says, frustrated. “Forget it. It was probably stupid.”

You hazard a glance at Reborn, who’s pretending to be asleep in his hammock. “It’s not stupid. What’s bothering you?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t _know,_ ” Tsuna complains. “Just, how does Reborn expect me to become a mafia boss if _you’re_ the one making all my friends for me?”

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with Vongola,” you say, confused. “I don’t know what you mean by making your friends for you.”

“I don’t! I hate all this mafia stuff! But it’s not like I have any choice,” Tsuna says. When you look over at him, he’s taking apart his muffin box, flattening it along the seams. “Hayato only likes me because you saved us when he almost blew himself up. You were the one who made friends with Yamamoto-kun first. You somehow met Miura-san in the park and you’ve only known her for a week but you already get to go to her house and you’re even friends with _Hibari-senpai._ Hibari-senpai’s terrifying, and he’d probably murder me on the spot if I tried to talk to him! I just—I wanna be like _you,_ Takkun.”

That’s . . . what do you say to something like that? You don’t like yourself all that much on a good day, so you can’t see why anyone would want to be like you, and you can’t tell him that you know your friends so well because you’d read about them in a past life.

Neither you nor Tsuna are what you would call people-people, or even approaching extraverted, but between the two of you, you’ve always held the opinion that you’re worse about it. Quick to fear, quick to anxiety, to freezing in place, unable to say a single word. Tsuna is a slightly different brand of antisocial—he’s more likely to overthink, more prone to tears and quiet, prickling anger that builds and builds whenever people treat him wrong.

Even still, no matter how many times people have burned him, he’s always been more comfortable around strangers, and back before Reborn had come into your lives, _everyone_ had been a stranger.

It leaves you wrong-footed to realize that this time, your roles have been reversed. You know Hayato and Takeshi and Haru, and everyone else Tsuna has yet to make a connection with. You know how they’d probably react in a given situation. You know what Reborn looks like when he has nightmares. You know how kind Haru is, how willing she is to take care of those who need her help. You know Hayato would sooner die than betray you or Tsuna—even if you’d rather he live for himself. And you know how much strength Takeshi draws from Tsuna’s presence. For the first time in his life, Tsuna has found friends who will never leave him, and he has no idea of it.

On some level, you know what you’re doing; Tsuna is flying blind with no proof to say that his newfound friendships will last, that everyone won’t just decide they’re tired of him and begin to drift away.

“Tsuna . . . who does Yamamoto-kun always invite to his baseball games?”

“W-Well, me, but—”

“And Hayato nearly _dies_ of jealousy whenever Yamamoto-kun so much as ruffles your hair. And Miura-san asks how you’re doing whenever we meet up, even though she doesn’t know you,” you say. “Tsu-kun, you’re the one who made the first move when you fought Hayato. You didn’t even hesitate to jump in and try to save him! And yeah, I kind of gave Yamamoto-kun a motivational speech but you’re the one who told him to take a break first, and you’re the one he went to for advice!”

“I know. I know,” Tsuna says. “But I’m—I’m just Dame-Tsuna. I’m scared they’re gonna realize I’m a loser and then they won’t wanna be f-friends with me anymore. Or what if Hayato’s only being my friend because I’m being forced to train for the Vongola? And I never know what to say around Takeshi and he has all his baseball friends and he’s gonna start thinking I’m boring and—and—and what if he’s just playing a prank on me? I’m s-so scared he’s going to turn around and say he was joking about being friends.”

“I think Hayato and Yamamoto-kun are better people than that,” you say slowly, trying to get your thoughts together. Tsuna makes a doubtful noise. “Yes, he decided he wanted to be our friend because we helped him, but I think he would figure it out pretty quickly if he didn’t want to be our friend. He could go back to Italy any time he wanted, but he hasn’t. I bet he’d be your friend even if you weren’t being trained to inherit, because you’re a good person. And . . . I really don’t think Yamamoto-kun is the type to pretend to be someone’s friend. He doesn’t seem like a cruel person to me. When he asks you to do something with him, it’s because he genuinely wants you around.”

“Yeah . . . I guess.” Tsuna sniffles loudly, and gets up to get a tissue.

“It’s been, what, a month?” you ask. “I know you’re feeling unsure about everything. I’m scared of people, too. But I think if you give it a little time you’ll see that nobody’s going anywhere.”

“But how do you know?” Tsuna asks. “How are you so _sure_?”

“Well, think about it this way: would Reborn-sensei tolerate anyone around you who wasn’t fit to be by your side?” you ask.

“No . . . but that’s only because he’s forcing me into the mafia!”

“Hey. His bad intentions are completely trustworthy,” you say. Tsuna laughs, but it’s watery, thin. He tries to discreetly wipe his eyes, and you look away to give him space.

“Yeah—I guess they are,” Tsuna agrees hesitantly. “Um. Thanks. I know I kind of dumped this all on you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m here for you. But have you . . . Do you think seeing a therapist again might help? I don’t—I don’t mean anything bad by it. No shame in talking to someone. I think it might help more to get advice from someone who’s, y’know. Trained.” Tsuna wilts, and you hurry to clarify for him. “It’s not because I don’t like to listen to you! I promise, I’m not sick of you. I just think you deserve better than what I, personally, can offer to you.”

“ . . . I don’t know. I’ll talk to Mama about it,” Tsuna says. “ _After_ Papa leaves.”

“Sorry. I wish I could help you more,” you say.

“No! No,” Tsuna says. “You helped me a lot. I probably shouldn’t be depending on you so much for this anyway. You’re right about—you know.”

There’s no adequate response you can give to that, so you nod at him, slowly, and return to your game.

The nagging feeling that you’re somehow at odds with Tsuna persists—is there something more you could have done to reassure him? Did you hurt his feelings when you suggested he talk to a therapist? The stigma against therapy and seeking help for mental health issues isn’t quite as bad here as you’d thought it would be, but it’s definitely pervasive. You tend to commit social faux pas all the time without realizing; maybe you’ve misstepped.

You’re no stranger to insecurity about friendships, so you know that sometimes words aren’t enough. Only time, and constant proof that Tsuna’s friends won’t just abandon him, will prove to your brother that he’s worthy of friendship.

And Tsuna—he might be right that he’s depending on you too much. Have you been letting him grow as his own person? When you act based on your knowledge of the future, are you stifling his ability to make his own choices? _Are_ you taking his friendships from him?

“Takkun, I can _hear_ you thinking,” Tsuna says. “Stop it. You didn’t offend me.” When you don’t respond, he chucks a pencil at you. “I mean it. Go downstairs and get a coffee or something, distract yourself.”

He chucks another pencil at you. At the rate he’s going, he’ll run out of writing implements before he can finish whatever he’s doing.

Despite yourself, you laugh, putting your hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

*

On Monday, after school, Reborn accompanies you to the abandoned factory site while Tsuna, Hayato, and Takeshi all get to hang out at TakeSushi. You’d sent him off with a smile and a thumbs-up, mentally willing him to have a good day.

“I wanted to eat good sushi, but nooo,” you complain. “Instead I get to be used as a punching bag for an hour. Yay for me!”

Reborn, perched on your shoulder, pinches your ear. “You’re getting soft. Quit whining.”

“But I love whi—”

“What was that?” Reborn asks, casually inspecting his Leon-gun.

“You’re gonna shoot me anyway, why not just get it over with now?” Jesus Christ. It’s so weird that you’ve accepted getting shot in the head as a regular, everyday occurrence. Mama would faint if she heard you talking like this.

“Actually, I had something different in mind for today,” Reborn says. “If you _want_ me to shoot you, though—”

“No, no, I was kidding! I love different!” you say quickly.

“Interrupt me again and you’ll be regretting it for the rest of the week,” Reborn threatens. “As I was saying, I think you should try to use your Flames on your own today. No Dying Will mode.”

The two of you round the corner into the factory site.

“Wait, really?” you ask. “You think I can do it?”

Admittedly, it would be nice not to have to use Dying Will mode all the time. Aside from the extremely weird side effect of ditching your shirt and pants whenever you get shot with it—something you haven’t been able to figure out, and which Reborn completely refuses to explain—it’d also make you feel better about your own capabilities.

“I think you may be able to,” Reborn says. “Don’t get your hopes up. But don’t doubt yourself either.”

“The hell does that mean?” you ask.

“Language. And don’t ask me stupid questions.”

Reborn always goes on and on about how high-standing members of the famiglia should be well-spoken, and is a complete ass about swearing. You are more than halfway certain he just does it for kicks.

“Sorry.”

Reborn gracefully jumps off your shoulder, landing lightly on the ground and backing up a good distance. “I told Hibari to show up half an hour late; whether he listens to me is completely up to luck. You’d better get started.”

“Get started . . . how, exactly? Can you, like, walk me through it?”

Reborn facepalms so hard that the smack echoes.

“Your main motivation is to protect Tsunayoshi, correct?” Reborn asks, speaking slowly like he’s trying teach addition to a kindergartener.

“I mean, yeah.”

“That’s your resolve. Make it manifest.”

Fortunately, you manage not to completely lose your temper at him, but it’s a near thing.

Do people in this world have a sixth sense for magical powers? You’re trying. You’re really, really trying. But nothing is happening. No matter how much you think about protecting Tsuna, no matter how hard you reach into yourself, you just can’t.

“Can I sit down?” you ask.

“Whatever works.”

You take a seat right on the gravel, criss-cross applesauce. “Can I . . . get a hint?”

“No.”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it.

What else—how had it felt when Reborn had hit you with those Dying Will bullets? Painful. Painful and burning and powerful. It’d been a fire in your veins, a shroud enveloping your entire body, eerie purple glow coming off your limbs. Does it start in your extremities?

You get an idea.

Instead of focusing inward, you focus outward—your arms and legs, the tips of your fingers, the top of your head. Tsuna had said he’d looked within, but Reborn has drilled it into your head time after time that everyone interacts with their Flames in a different way.

Even two people possessing a Rain Flame may go about it in two separate ways: one might emulate a cutting rain, lashing mercilessly, pouring endlessly, and others yet may draw inspiration from a gentle drizzle, slow and sluggish, calm and unassuming.

You, though—you’re a Cloud. Reborn says those with Cloud Flames are more likely to drift, more likely to want independence. Maybe your Flames reflect that. Maybe, instead of being locked inside your core waiting for you to tap into them, they’re just . . . there.

That’s the key.

Your first thought is that it burns, and your second is that it’s cold. Your third is _HOLY CRAP I DID IT,_ which completely breaks your concentration and sends your Flames racing away from you.

It takes long, frustrating minutes for you to grab hold of them again. Once you’re reasonably sure you can move without having to start all over, you stand. The Flames are really weird and confusing, like you’ve been dipped in water so hot it’s cold. Getting used to that sensation is the difficult part, and then moving with it feels like getting stuck with pins.

It’s so completely different from your Dying Will mode—your Flames aren’t showing outwardly, not even a little, even though you know they’re there. Have you gotten it wrong somehow?

You voice this thought to Reborn, who squints at you for a second before saying, “No. You did it. It only feels different because you’re used to Dying Will mode. You’re going to have to work hard from now on.”

“Oh,” you say, frowning. So basically, you’re super weak.

“I can tell what you’re thinking. Stop worrying,” Reborn says. “You’ve made good progress. Tsunayoshi is somewhat of a . . . special case. Do not compare yourself to him.”

You sigh. “Okay. Well, what do I do now? I have these Flames, but how do I use them?”

“You have a lot of options,” Reborn says. “Many Cloud Flame users wield weapons, since Propagation works well with them. I can teach you some of what I know, if you’d like. For now, though, I suggest you work on what you’ve been doing so far. Propogate your strength, your speed. It’s good practice.”

“Um . . . ”

“And stop overthinking it. Just fight; you’ve used your Flames often enough that you won’t have to try too hard to get them to do what you want.”

Really? _Really?_

“All right . . . but how am I supposed to fight when Hibari-senpai isn’t here yet?” you ask.

“Isn’t here? What are you talking about?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Hibari jumps down from the nearest rooftop, cast-free and completely ready to kick your ass into next week. “Hello, omnivore. For failing to notice my arrival, I will bite you to death.”

*

After the beatdown—Hibari hadn’t been kidding about not holding himself back, holy shit—you walk home instead of to TakeSushi, on account of home being closer, and you’d rather not have to patch yourself up at someone else’s house.

Tsuna texts the group chat you and Mama are in to say he and Hayato are staying the night at Takeshi’s, and Lambo, wearing a brand new fox onesie, demands to call Tsuna on the phone to make sure he’ll be okay. It’s very sweet and mushy, so much so that even Reborn can’t pretend to be disgusted.

The evening wears on calmly.

The dinner table is a little quieter than you’re used to without Tsuna and Hayato. Iemitsu and Reborn hold a silent conversation for the majority of it, leaving you, Mama, and Lambo to awkwardly make small talk.

“How was your day, Takkun?” Mama asks, pushing a piece of fish around on her plate.

“Uh, it was fine I guess,” you say. “Really cold, though.”

“You know, it might snow tomorrow afternoon,” Mama says. “Better bring your umbrella for the walk home.”

“Snow! The Great Lambo loves snow!” Lambo says. “Taka, let’s play in the snow tomorrow!”

“Oh, I dunno.” You brush your hair away from your face. “I like getting pelted by snow. And, Lambo-kun, it _might_ snow tomorrow. No guarantees.”

Mama laughs. “Last time you did that you were sick for—Takkun? Where did you get that scratch?”

You touch your forehead self-consciously. Ah, you’d forgotten to bandage that one. “I was just training with Hibari-senpai today. I lost my balance and fell really hard. There’s so many loose rocks at the old factory, it—”

“You’re training _there?_ ” Mama asks, alarmed. “It’s dangerous there!”

“That’s . . . kind of the point,” you say, wincing when she sucks in a breath. “It’s because there are a lot of buildings there, kind of like how it’d be if I was in an actual fight, and no one will care if we break stuff because Hibari-senpai’s family owns the lot.”

“I—all right.” Mama sighs, slowly. “But please, be more careful.”

She gives Reborn—still engaged in a staring contest with your father—an odd look.

“I guess I can ask him to spar with me in the gym sometimes,” you offer.

“That would be much better,” Mama says, satisfied smile making its home on her face. “You should invite Hibari-kun over to dinner again sometime. He’s a very nice young man.”

You choke on your food. Mama hovers over you, concerned, patting you on the back until you recover. “ _Nice?_ ” you wheeze, while Lambo loudly asks if you’re okay. “Mama, you have severely misjudged his character. I’m fine, Lambo-kun.”

“Eat slower,” Lambo commands. “No choking. That’s dangerous.”

Mama takes her seat again, patting him on the head. “You heard him, Takkun.”

*

Things go a little pear-shaped at about one in the morning. You’re trying to sleep, but it’s just not working.

You like Reborn and you like Lambo, but you’re used to having lived out fourteen years with only the soothing rhythm of Tsuna’s breathing to keep you company at night. The presence of two extra people plus the absence of your brother is . . . grating, to put it lightly. You are hyper-aware of every creak of Reborn’s hammock, of Lambo’s blanket rustling as he tosses and turns in his little bed. It’s enough to drive you out of the room, clutching your blanket and long pillow to your chest.

You used to have to do this more when you were younger, when you worried more about everything and had to shut yourself away in a guest room to calm down.

Five minutes into trying to get back to sleep—you’re camped out in the living room since the idea of being alone in a dark room freaks you out, for whatever reason—you realize you’re really, _really_ hungry.

You need a snack.

Unfortunately, Mama’s shopping trip yesterday had _not_ included a stop at the convenience store, so there are still no saltines in the cabinet. In the fridge, though, there’s a container of day-old rice. You can work with that.

Maybe you’re a little too loud getting the frying pan out, or maybe the tongue twisters you’re muttering under your breath aren’t as quiet as you think they are. Or maybe he’d heard you dropping the bottle of oil onto the floor. Whatever it is, Reborn joins you downstairs about a minute into your prep.

“Chồng chị chín chết chị chưa chôn, chị chờ—”

“Keeping up on your language studies, I see.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” you hiss, nearly dropping the oil again.

“Language.”

“Sorry,” you apologize, setting the oil down and scooping a spatula full of rice into the pan. “Yeah. I like tongue twisters.”

Reborn nods. “Your pronunciation is good. What are you making?”

“I’m just frying some rice,” you say. “It gets reeeeally crispy if you do it like this.”

“Make one for me.”

“‘Kay,” you say. That makes six you have to fry. Is there enough rice for that? Probably. “You know, not to be rude, but I came downstairs to get away from you. Not so that you would come bother me.”

Reborn stares at you.

“Sorry,” you say again, cursing your nonexistent brain-to-mouth filter.

“I’m quizzing you on math again tomorrow, and if you don’t score an eighty or above I’m slotting in an extra day of training with Hibari,” Reborn informs you.

“Jeez, I said sorry,” you say, mercilessly flattening the rice with your spatula. One, two, three, four, five, and . . . done. You dump it out onto your plate. “Here.”

Reborn takes the offered rice _and_ your plate. You roll your eyes as you fetch a new one for yourself and set it down beside the stove.

“This isn’t bad,” Reborn says, crunching the rice loudly.

“I know. I wouldn’t eat it if it was bad.”

The next few rice patties go by in silence; Reborn’s quiet company goes from prickly and irritating to—dare you say it?—comforting. You’re still not going back to your room, but it’s nice of Reborn to be out here with you at ass-o’-clock in the morning.

However. As previously established, the universe has it out for you; to really drive the point home, Iemitsu walks into the kitchen right as you’re finishing up.

“What. Are you _doing_. To that _rice_?” Iemitsu asks, horrified.

“Huh? I’m frying it,” you say defensively.

Iemitsu squints. “Looks more like you’re torturing it.”

“I’m not!” you say, scowling. “I’m just cooking! You don’t have to be here if you don’t like it.”

“Woah, woah, easy up on the attitude,” Iemitsu says, smiling like it’s all a funny joke. “What’s got you down?”

You instinctively curl in on yourself: elbows tucked, shoulders hunched, body turned away from him just so slightly. You put the last rice patty onto the plate, and Iemitsu and Reborn follow you out to the table. Reborn seems to be along for the ride; Iemitsu is looking expectantly at you.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you say, stuffing your mouth in an attempt to avoid talking to him.

Unfortunately, he waits for you to finish chewing. “Is this about Saturday?” he asks.

“No.” It’s not exactly a lie, but it sure as hell isn’t the whole truth, either. Yes, on some level, it _is_ about Saturday. But more than that, it’s about Iemitsu’s whole “what are you talking about, I’m not a shitty father, I just never have time for my kids and wife and for years I constantly lied to them about my job and whereabouts” thing.

Yeah. You’re bitter.

“I thought we were over that,” Iemitsu says. “I thought . . . ”

“You thought what?” you ask. It comes out as more of a sigh. Being around him for more than five minutes is so, so exhausting.

“Well, I thought you decided to be mature and move past it,” he says. He tries for a smile, but it comes out lopsided.

Your hand clenches around your chopsticks so hard it hurts. Iemitsu isn’t even trying to be condescending; he’s genuine about this. You’re not sure which would make you angrier.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Clearly we n—”

Iemitsu’s phone—why the _hell_ is he carrying his phone around at this time of night?—goes off.

Thank. Fucking. God.

He frowns when he checks the caller ID, pressing answer and holding his archaic flip-phone to his ear. “Lal?”

The first thing you learn about Lal Mirch is that she’s got a frighteningly impressive pair of lungs on her. When she starts yelling, you can hear her clearly despite the fact that she isn’t even on speakerphone.

You can barely understand the Italian she belts out, but the few words you do catch are: _work, airplane,_ and _my god._

Iemitsu smiles tightly at you and Reborn, and presses a button on the phone that cuts off Lal’s incensed tirade. “I have to step outside. Make sure you get to bed soon, Takkun.”

Your appetite is kind of ruined, but you eat the rest of the rice out of spite. After you put your dish in the sink, Reborn nods at you and heads back upstairs with a reminder about your quiz tomorrow.

Ugh. You _always_ fail Reborn’s quizzes.

*

Your morning begins with Mama announcing Iemitsu’s imminent departure.

“I’m going to the airport with him now, so I can’t make breakfast for you,” Mama says apologetically, unaware of your internal delight. “The leftover fish from last night is in the fridge, but someone must have eaten all the rice. I made some, but it won’t be done for at least half an hour.”

“Whuh? What time is it?” you ask, groggily rubbing your eyes.

Mama smiles guiltily at you. “Half past six. I’m sorry for waking you so early. I just needed to let you know. Will you text Tsu-kun and Hayato-kun for me later?”

“Sure, I get the short end of the stick and those two get to sleep in all they want,” you say. Mama pokes your cheek and you laugh. “Yeah, I got it. Are you taking Lambo-kun with you?”

“Of course. I don’t know how the traffic will be coming back, and I don’t want him to be home by himself,” she says. Looks over her shoulder. “I put some money on the table for your lunches. Make sure Tsu-kun and Hayato-kun get theirs.”

“M’kay,” you mumble, sitting up. “Be safe. Love you.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” she says, giving you a brief hug. “I’m going to get Lambo-kun, and then we’re leaving. Bye-bye!”

Iemitsu comes into the living room shortly afterwards and attempts to hug you, but you dodge it and sit on the edge of the couch uncomfortably as he tells you to give Tsuna his love.

The moment they’re both out of the door, you jump to your feet and punch the air. “Yes!” you cheer. “YES!”

“Awfully excited, aren’t you?” Reborn asks.

You whirl around, embarrassed. He’s in the doorway that leads to the front hall, already fully-dressed, with his hands tucked casually into his pockets. How does he manage to look so awake already?

“I-I guess,” you say, sitting back down slowly. “Is that . . . bad?”

“No,” Reborn reassures.

“Oh. Well, okay.” You yawn. “Going somewhere?”

“Not at all.”

“ . . . Oh.”

“But I do have some news for you, regarding my associate. The one who was delayed,” Reborn explains. “She’ll be landing in Namimori this afternoon.”

“That’s, um, that’s great,” you try.

“Don’t lie to me,” Reborn says. “You will be fine. I’ll admit, she has a flair for the dramatic—and dangerous—but she’s under strict orders not to kill or permanently injure you.”

Suddenly, your suspicions toward her identity intensify, until they’re almost a physical itch under your skin. But it’d be no use asking—Reborn has made it clear that he won’t be giving away who she is until you actually meet her. “Were you trying to reassure me? It didn’t work.”

“Good,” Reborn says. “Now get ready for school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one asked for this, but i’ve crossed two relatively small fandoms with each other to make an incredibly tiny niche: [matching khr characters to monster hunter music.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oBkxhRvzKGeWIaneZ4w0ZVBK4-szznehDkx0JUKEsu0/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
> also, i drew [takahisa](https://i.imgur.com/B9WyV9G.png).
> 
> next chapter introduces someone i've literally been DYING to write about for the longest time. i'm so excited holy crap!!!
> 
> as always, please leave a comment! kudos are always appreciated, but comments - no matter how short - are infinitely better. i read and cherish every single comment. thank you so much for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the absolute monster that was chapter 8 kind of killed me so thats why i didnt update sooner. but the wait is over! have another chapter!
> 
> i was so glad to get rid of iemitsu last chapter that i thought it would be easier to write this, but apparently that was not the case hgfdjghshgkf

Tuesday is indeed a snow day.

The first fine flakes fall during the walk home, at around a quarter past five, catching you by surprise as they drift lazily to the ground. You fiddle with the handle of your umbrella, wondering if you should open it, or let yourself get snowed on.

“Do you think it’ll snow hard enough that they cancel school tomorrow?” Tsuna wonders, opening his hands to catch the snow. “I hope.”

“Nah. My dad said it’d only be a couple inches,” Takeshi informs, sounding somewhat regretful. When you look over at him, he’s got his eyes cast upward, watching the sky with a peaceful expression. “I wish it would be more. I really like the cold.”

“Freak,” Hayato mutters halfheartedly, shoulders hunched up to his ears.

Funny for him to say, considering he’d forgotten his jacket at home and had to borrow Takeshi’s. He’s currently near-drowning in it; the sleeves are bunched up, folded over to shorten their length and they’re still threatening to engulf his hands.

“Really? Maybe I should be cold. Do you want me to ask for my jacket back?” Takeshi asks.

Tsuna quickly glances between Hayato and Takeshi, like he thinks they’re going to fight about it. Then he turns to you, with a pleading expression on his face, and with a sigh you maneuver yourself in between the two of them, nudging Hayato forward to walk beside Tsuna.

The sidewalk is narrow and kind of cramped, causing your shoulders to occasionally brush against Takeshi’s, but instead of coming as an annoyance as it normally might, it’s actually comforting.

Grounding, too, since you’ve felt a slight disconnect from your surroundings all day; coming into contact with Takeshi reminds you that you’re a real, live human being. His particular brand of tactile—slinging an arm over your shoulder, idly ruffling your hair whenever you’re within reach, leaning against you during lunch time—always makes you feel better, even if you hadn’t thought you were in the mood for any sort of physical affection.

By the time the four of you reach home, the snow has picked up to a steady, soft fall, and the ground is covered in a fine layer of powder snow. It crunches quietly underfoot and sticks to your shoes when you step into the house.

“I’m home!” you and Tsuna chorus. Hayato echoes your words, albeit not as loud and with a short delay. But the intent is the same, and you look away to hide your smile, quickly toeing your shoes off.

You find Reborn seated at the dining table, looking expectantly at you. He had been suspiciously absent from school today—not hanging out in the trees growing outside the classroom window, not disappearing around corners when you least expect him to, not quietly presiding over your gym class—and it makes you half curious, half worried about what he’s got cooking.

It’s something to do with his associate, no doubt. By now, the need to see her, to get this over with, is nearly painful. It’s been weeks. You can’t wait any longer—you’re full to the brim with restless energy that makes you twist your hands in the hem of your jacket and scuff your feet against the ground to let out some of that tension.

“Hi, Reborn-sensei,” you greet, handing Tsuna your bag and keeping an eye on him as he half-stumbles, half-scurries his way up the stairs. Hayato stomps up after him and Takeshi follows calmly, balancing the three of them out. In your head, you refer to them as Tsuna’s Stair Guard. Out loud, you say nothing, because you know Hayato would take that title one hundred percent seriously. “What’s up?”

Reborn’s expression shifts minutely in the way that tells you he finds your speech distasteful, but doesn’t consider pointing it out to be worth the effort. “Tell Nana we’re going out. And get ready—we’re leaving as soon as you’re ready to go.”

In nearly an instant, your apprehension morphs into something more like anticipation. You’re . . . eager, strangely. Maybe you shouldn’t be as excited as you are. There’s definitely a high chance that you’re going to come home with bruises and scrapes, exhausted and defeated, but you’re so glad it’s happening, that this deadline won’t have to loom over you anymore, that the thought of being tested by someone whose experience and strength far exceed your own isn’t as scary as it normally would be.

But maybe you’re just getting used to it; after all, Hibari always makes a point of showing you just how outmatched you are to him, and you’ve adjusted to that well enough. You’re still not exactly thrilled to spar with him so often, but you don’t dread him anymore.

“Yes, Reborn-sensei,” you say, perhaps a bit too cheerily given the slightly perturbed glance he sends your way.

Mama is in the kitchen when you get there, over at the long counter, the one that doesn’t have the dishwasher and sink. She’s taking ingredients out of the cupboards—you spot at least two types of flour, sesame seeds, and a couple of eggs in a bowl.

When Mama sees you, she smiles sunnily. “Welcome home! How was school?” she asks, setting down the butter dish she’d been holding. “I heard someone with you—did you bring Yamamoto-kun over?”

“School was fine. It started snowing a couple minutes ago, so Lambo-kun is probably going to want to go outside. And yeah, Yamamoto-kun is upstairs right now,” you answer. “Apparently his dad has some really important guest coming over so he couldn’t close up early.”

“A celebrity?” Mama muses. “Lambo-kun is taking a nap in my room right now. After we said goodbye to Papa at the airport, I took him to the kindergarten—the one I’ve been thinking about—we were out for a couple hours, so he’s all tired now. I’ll wake him up later, if the snow keeps up for that long.”

It had taken somewhat of a while to warm Lambo up to the idea of kindergarten. Somehow, he’d gotten it into his head that school meant going to school with you, and had been sorely disappointed when he’d learned kindergarten would be a solo act. If Lambo had been feeling cooperative enough to actually accompany Mama, that’s a good sign for the future.

“Sounds like a good idea. Oh! Reborn-sensei and I are about to go . . . somewhere,” you say. “See, he has this—co-worker? I think? Who’s coming over from Italy, and she’s getting here today. She’s going to evaluate me, or something. For training. I’ll probably be fine, though!”

Judging by her expression, Mama doesn’t seem too reassured by your “probably,” but whatever reprimanding words she has to say about the situation, she keeps them to herself.

“Well . . . All right. Be safe, and call me if you’re going to be out after dark,” she says. Before you told her about the mafia, when Mama had said “be safe,” she’d taken it for granted that you would come home healthy and whole. Now, though, she says it with caution, as though she’s tempting fate by wishing you well. “And if it’s not too much trouble, stop by the supermarket on your way back home, please. I’m going to be using up the last of our bread flour for this.”

“I will, if I have time,” you promise. “Otherwise I can probably get it after school tomorrow.”

Mama nods, hums something vaguely affirmative, and you take that as your cue to leave. Just before you turn the corner of the kitchen, she calls out, “Let Hayato know I’m baking, will you?”

“Yeah! Got it!” you call over your shoulder. You pass Reborn in the dining room, and tell him, “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

It’s convenient that you need to call Hayato downstairs; you would have had to go up to retrieve your wallet from your school bag anyway. You hurry up the stairs, keeping a hand on the railing just in case you lose your balance. It had happened a few days ago, your usual habit of taking the stairs two at a time coming back to bite you.

No one looks up when you enter, crossing the room to get your wallet and shoving it into the inner pocket of your jacket. Takeshi is engrossed in whatever subject Hayato is attempting to tutor him in, and Hayato is similarly absorbed in what he’s teaching.

“Hey, Hayato,” you say, cutting off his explanation of . . . something-or-other. All three of them had been talking at once and words get muddled for you when there’s that much noise in a room. “Sorry to interrupt, but Mama’s baking something. She wanted me to let you know.”

“Baking—of course!” Hayato exclaims, standing abruptly. The movement upsets a small stack of papers on the table, sending them all to the ground, but Hayato doesn’t give them a glance. “Sorry, Tsuna, Yamamoto! Maybe Reborn-sensei can help you out!”

He certainly doesn’t sound sorry, but you don’t call him out on it; teaching is a headache and a half, and the fact that his pupil is Takeshi probably only makes it worse.

Hayato slips past you, trotting down the stairs, and you retreat back into the hall too, gently shutting the door of your room.

Hayato has a bit of a thing about watching Mama cook. Often, you’ll find him camped out near the entrance of the kitchen, pretending to do homework while covertly keeping an eye on dinner preparations. Sometimes he’s bold enough to spend time in the same room as her, leaning against the counter and carefully observing Mama’s every move. Other times—on days he’s more relaxed—he’ll keep it to a minimum, a pass-by every five minutes, maybe.

You’re pretty sure you know why he does it, and it worries you somewhat. But he’s not harming anyone, and if anything, his constant checking in is helping him trust Mama more and more.

He’s still slightly skittish around mealtimes, and he never eats as much as you think he should, but he’s making progress.

When you get back downstairs, Reborn isn’t waiting for you in the dining room anymore. He must have moved to the living room. You snag your bag of stuff on the way through, where Reborn is sitting on the red armchair, tapping away at his phone. When he sees you enter, he stows it into what you’re certain is an extra-dimensional pocket.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I was gone for one minute,” you point out.

“Yes. You were,” Reborn says. “Our ride is here. Let’s not delay, hm?”

“Ride?” you ask. “Did you hire a taxi? How far away are we going?”

“Of course not. It’s my colleague—she’s here to pick us up. She’ll bring us to the usual spot,” Reborn says, hopping off the couch and motioning for you to go ahead of him.

When you get outside, there’s a woman on a scooter waiting for you in front of the house, face obscured by the visor on her helmet.

You know nothing about motorbikes or scooters or all that, but you know that you love them, and this person has immediately won all your trust and respect. Even if she’s going to kick your ass in a few minutes.

As you draw closer to her, she offers you a helmet and says, “Get on,” in heavily-accented Japanese.

There’s really nothing to do but listen to her, so you strap your helmet on and take a seat behind her, careful not to let your legs touch the hot exhaust pipe. Reborn, somehow having procured his own helmet—in a poisonous shade of green, no less—does the scuttle of death up your leg and onto your shoulder.

“Are you gonna be able to hang on like that?” you ask.

“Do you doubt my skill?”

“I doubt my shoulder’s ability not to cramp up.”

“Why do I put up with you?” he asks, very obviously not planning on removing himself from his perch. To the woman he says, “Just go.”

She pushes the scooter’s kickstand up, and you barely have enough time to center yourself and grip onto the back of the seat before she takes off.

When the initial burst of adrenaline dies down, you can barely hold back from whooping in delight. You remember how much you’d loved this before you were Takahisa; you, or Before-you, whoever that person had been. The feeling of the wind on your face, cold and slightly biting, making your eyes sting when you can bear to open them.

The woman is definitely traveling at less-than-legal speeds, especially considering the snow making the road slick, but you’re unable to give it more than a passing thought, lost as you are in the excitement.

“So,” you say, as the three of you pull up to the curb in front of the factory site, clutching to the seat with a white-knuckled grip, “Who are you exactly? Reborn-sensei won’t tell me!”

“Keeping secrets, Reborn?” she asks, amusement clear in her voice. She reaches for the chin-strap on her helmet, undoing the buckle. When she lifts it off her head, a cascade of pink hair tumbles over her shoulders and down her back, long enough to touch the seat of the scooter. “I’ll introduce myself properly, then. My name is Bianchi Ruotolo, the Poison Scorpion. I occasionally take jobs with Reborn. He hired me to come here and evaluate your abilities. Clearly he thinks there’s something worthwhile about you, so make sure to impress me.”

The immediate thought that comes to your mind is that you’d been right about who you’d be meeting. Nice! You love being right.

The next thing that occurs to you is that Bianchi is definitely going to put the hurt on you, no matter how much you’ve improved recently. Just . . . her _muscles._ How can she stand to wear a tank top in this weather?

What you notice last, as you and Bianchi are dismounting from the scooter, is that she’s much younger than you had expected. It’s obvious in the soft, rounded curves of her face, the thinness in her voice and the way she holds herself. She looks like a high-schooler, not a professional hitman.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Reborn says good-naturedly, hopping off your shoulder so that you have space to undo your own helmet. “We nearly killed each other when we first met. It was a long time before she was good enough to work with me.”

“Hey!” Bianchi protests. “Can’t I get even a little mystery to myself? Spoilsport.”

“Hmm. No,” Reborn says. “Takahisa, Bianchi, this way. We might need some space for this.”

He leads you towards the back of the lot, an open space that used to be the main building. By now, your fights with Hibari have thoroughly demolished the place, and its walls are crumbled and decrepit, leaving the interior open to the air. It had mostly been Hibari, but on one occasion you’d smashed through a wall with your Dying Will. It had seemed cool at the time but the bruises and soreness had absolutely not been worth it.

Bianchi takes her place on the opposite side of the room, ankle-deep in snow. You know she’s sizing you up, though her face very nearly screams boredom. It’s in the way her eyes scan her surroundings, the way her gaze flickers toward you every few seconds.

Is she going to use her Poison Cooking on you? How would she, even? There’s nothing around to poison and she has yet to develop the ability to poison anything she touches—if that’s even a thing now.

“Takahisa,” Reborn says, snapping your attention away from Bianchi. “Now would be a good time to light your Flames.”

“Oh—oh! Yeah. I forgot.”

It’s easier than last time to call your Flames toward you, to feel them prickling at your arms and legs, shrouding you in heat you can’t feel properly. An experimental step forward yields the same results as last time; it feels like you’re trying to run on sleeping limbs, and if you move too fast you’ll dissolve.

“A Cloud?” Bianchi asks, like it’s funny. What little pride you have smarts at the insult. “Takahisa, has he been bullying you?”

“No,” Reborn cuts in, before you can respond. “They’re not nearly enough of a pushover for it to work. Are you going to get started or was this a waste of my time?”

Bianchi laughs.

“Crabby old man,” she teases, causing your eyes to nearly bug out of your head. The familiarity and ease with which she insults Reborn are astounding. Sure, you’ve joked at his expense once or twice, but you’d meet hell if you ever talked to him like that. He’d have you running laps around the track for _years_.

Bianchi pulls a scrunchie out of the front pocket of her pants, taking a moment to gather her hair up into a tight bun. “All right,” she says, once the last loop of her hair tie snaps into place. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

Fighting Bianchi and fighting Hibari are like night and day. While Hibari’s movements err on the side of rigid precision, Bianchi is fluid. She maneuvers herself around you so quickly, so smoothly and seamlessly that it’s hard for you to keep up with her. Hibari is an unyielding wall, an unstoppable force, providing no weaknesses for you to exploit. Bianchi intentionally leaves holes in her defenses to trick you into going after her. Fighting her is like fighting a riddle, made many times worse because your concentration is split between keeping your Flames going and trying to protect yourself from her.

Bianchi is an entirely different beast than what you’re used to, but that doesn’t detract from the experience. In fact, you find yourself actively liking it, and the joy lasts long after you’re finished fighting.

“This is the most fun I’ve had fighting, like, ever,” you pant, resting your hands on your knees, breath misting in front of your face. Your arms hurt all over and you’d had the breath knocked, or rather, slammed out of you on more than one occasion. “You’re—you’re awesome.”

Bianchi stands in front of you with her arms crossed loosely, sweaty but not out of breath, looking, somehow, like she’d only done some light exercise and maybe a couple of stretches.

“I am, aren’t I?” she preens. “You’re pretty good too, for a novice. But let me tell you what I think, since that’s what I came here for. First things first, you could use a weapon. Your Flames aren’t working for you this way currently, and they may never.”

“But Reborn-sensei said to pract—”

“Reborn,” she says, cutting you off with a stern glare, “has only had prolonged exposure to a single Cloud, who is unconventional in every sense of the term. Don’t do what he does. Use a weapon. It’ll be much easier for you since your Flames will want to move outside of your body rather than within it. Trust me on this one. Two of my ex-girlfriends have been Clouds and they both worked better with some kind of weapon. A gun, a knife, it doesn’t matter, because you are so much more versatile when your Flames can propagate physical objects. What have you been teaching them, Reborn?”

“I hold Takahisa to a high standard,” Reborn defends. “They showed they were capable of using their Flames to enhance their physical attributes under the effects of the Dying Will bullet. I thought it prudent to nurture those talents.”

“A high standard.” Bianchi shakes her head disbelievingly. “That’s ridiculous. When you used the Dying Will bullet on me, I destroyed the entire left wing of my father’s mansion in thirty seconds. I’ve come so far since that day, but I wouldn’t be able to . . . ”

She pauses. Frowns. Language complications, maybe?

“Replicate, that’s the word.” She snaps her fingers. “I wouldn’t be able to replicate that feat today. Just because it worked with that idiot Dino doesn’t mean everyone will be able to do the same. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance they will be able to do it someday. But you can’t start them out trying to solve the most difficult of problems! In fact, I’m impressed at how well they’re doing!”

“Well,” says Reborn irately, “if you think you know better than me, why don’t you take over Takahisa’s training?”

“Oh? You’re offering?” Bianchi grins. “In that case, I’d be happy to.”

The speed of their conversation leaves your head spinning, so much so that it doesn’t sink into you what’s happened until you and Bianchi and Reborn are back on her scooter, well on your way toward home.

Bianchi? Teaching you?

In theory it sounds nice, but . . .

Your most pressing concern is toward Hayato. You know he doesn’t do well around Bianchi and you’re worried he would take it as a betrayal if you started to train with her.

You want Bianchi and Hayato to reconcile. You want Hayato to be able to look at his sister’s face and be able to smile, and be happy, and laugh in her presence instead of recoiling in fear and discomfort.

You’re scared it might never happen.

You never do get the chance to ask her why she’s suddenly decided to mentor you; before you know it, you’re clambering down from the scooter and returning your helmet to her, and she’s saying her goodbyes.

“Give them my number,” she says to Reborn. “I’ll text them once I find a place to stay, and we can start some real training.” She waves. “See ya ‘round.”

“That went better than I expected,” Reborn admits, after Bianchi is well out of sight. “It seems she’s taken a liking to you. She couldn’t stand my last student.”

“Were you hoping she’d hate me?” you ask, unlocking the front door.

“No comment.”

*

Reborn quizzes you during dinner, and it goes about as well as you’d expected it to. Out of ten questions, you get a whopping five correct. That’s actually pretty good—normally you’re lucky to get one or two right, because Reborn’s quizzes are never actually about the education. They’re about how funny he thinks it is to watch you flounder.

Every other question or so he’ll add in a question like, “How many fish did I own when I was younger?” and you have to sit there and comb over every conversation you’ve ever had trying to remember if he’s ever mentioned owning fish, and when you finally just give up and blurt out a number, he says you’re wrong because he never had any fish.

At least Lambo, Takeshi, and Mama it funny. Hayato and Tsuna, who have been subject to far too many of Reborn’s quizzes to openly make fun of you, spend the entire duration of it grimacing in solidarity and trying to come up with their own answers to help you out.

Especially during the fish bit—Tsuna had guessed three and Hayato had been insistent on Reborn having owned an entire lake.

“Wait a minute. Do I still have to train with Hibari?” you ask, mentally mapping out your schedule for the week. There’s absolutely no way you can fit in extra time with Hibari on top of beginning whatever it is you’ll be doing with Bianchi. “Oh, wait. He’d flip out if you told him training was cancelled, wouldn’t he?”

“There’s that. I can cut down the amount of time you spend with him, though, to make room for Bianchi.”

Hayato chokes on a mouthful of water. “B-Bianchi?” he rasps, hacking out a nasty cough.

“It’s a common enough name. Could be anyone,” Reborn says.

“Really?” he wheezes hopefully, swatting Takeshi’s hand away from his back.

“Haha. No. This is the Bianchi you’re thinking about,” Reborn says, chipper and smiling. “She’s your half-sister, isn’t she?”

“Stinky Hayato has a sister?” Lambo asks incredulously, flicking a piece of chicken off his plate.

At that, Hayato’s expression changes, to one of distaste.

“Not in a million years. I don’t consider her my family.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Reborn-sensei, how do you keep inviting people I know here? The dangerous ones, specifically? You didn’t listen to me about Shamal, and now _her_?”

“I understand you haven’t gotten along with her, but this is an entirely different situation. I’ve known Bianchi for—”

“It’s _not_ different!” Hayato says, voice frantic and nearly at a shout. Tsuna fruitlessly attempts to sink into the floor, while Mama looks back and forth between Hayato and Reborn with wide eyes, as though she isn’t sure whether to speak up or not. “Do you know what she does, Takahisa? She poisons people! She—she’s not safe to be around, at all!”

“Reborn-san? Is that true?” Mama asks. “Did you put Takkun in danger?”

Reborn sighs sharply. “No. History with Hayato aside, Bianchi is someone I trust to take care of Takahisa.” Coming from Reborn, that means a lot—but does Mama know that? Does Hayato? And even if he did, would he accept that? “She’ll be taking over most of Takahisa’s training from now. You don’t have to like it. You don’t even have to see her. But she _will_ stay in Namimori, and you have no say in that.”

It’s times like these that you’re reminded that Reborn isn’t just an eccentric, mischievous tutor. He’s a person, with all the emotions that come with, and right now he has to be frustrated beyond belief.

Hayato clenches his hands on his chopsticks, jaw working in an attempt to hold his anger at bay. After a tense silence he stands, pushing his chair back.

“Sorry, Nana-san. I can’t—I can’t be in here right now,” he mumbles, taking off for the stairs at a pace that’s not exactly a run, but cuts it fairly close.

The rest of dinner is rightfully tense after that exchange. You don’t blame Takeshi for not sticking around—he takes the first chance he can get to give his excuses for needing to be home, and Mama lets him go without argument. Even Lambo seems to pick up on the mood, poking at his food with a pout on his face and obediently trotting out toward the living room while you and Mama clear the table.

Mama pulls you aside after cleanup, saying, “Takkun, are you going to be safe with Bianchi-san?”

“She seemed nice,” you say uneasily, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You can’t deny that Bianchi is dangerous. You have no idea how it’ll play out in this future, in this time, but from what you remember, there had been multiple incidents where she’d very nearly killed your brother and his friends. Even Tsuna’s classmates. The Bianchi you’d met today, though, had seemed a far cry from that person. “I . . . can’t say what happened between her and Hayato, but she seemed like she wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Tell me if anything happens, okay? I don’t know what I can do. But I’ll try my best to help you out,” Mama says. Her brows are creased with worry, face drawn and pinched. You hate that you do this to her. “Please. Promise me.”

“I will,” you say, lips tugging into a frown. “I think I should talk to Hayato. Maybe I can explain things better to him.”

“I think so too. But don’t overwhelm him. He was really upset,” Mama notes. “Off with you, then. I need to get that bread into the oven; come down in about an hour and it’ll be done.”

“Okay.”

You briefly stick your head into your room to tell Tsuna about the bread, and then you’re turning around, crossing the short distance it takes to get to Hayato’s door.

A few seconds after you knock, he calls out, “Come in!”

You don’t go into Hayato’s room that often. It’s his space, his place when he needs time to himself—if he wants to hang around with you or Tsuna, he comes to you. You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve been in here for longer than a couple of seconds.

In one corner of the room is his desk. Papers, bits and baubles, and even a couple of screwdrivers are scattered haphazardly across its surface, making it look more like a workbench than anything. His bed is pushed against the wall with the window in it, blankets rumpled and clothes hanging off the metal headrest.

Hayato himself is over near his dresser, fussing with a stack of notebooks.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, edging into the room and leaving the door slightly ajar behind you.

It takes a little while for Hayato to respond. When he does, turning to you, all he says is, “Hey.”

“Do you wanna, um, talk about it?” you ask.

“Not . . . really,” he admits. “But you can stay if you want.”

A part of you feels stupid for even asking; of course he wouldn’t want to talk about it. He needs time to process his own feelings and you can’t expect him to miraculously open up to you like Tsuna does. But even still, there’s a part of you that wants so badly to help him.

You know it’s not your job to fix everything, and you’d be worse off if you tried to meddle. You just can’t help the urge, even though this is something Hayato and Bianchi need to work through by themselves.

“Heard about any new U.M.A.s recently?” you ask.

You probably sound like a total goofball talking about U.M.A.s, since you don’t get the appeal and can’t really use the lingo associated with them. When Hayato goes off on one of his rants, you consider it a good talk if you understand half of what he’s saying.

You’ve said the right thing, though; his face lights up and he launches into an explanation of a purported cryptid he’d been hearing of online.

“—Of course, not everything mysterious is automatically a U.M.A., since it could be a result of bad photos, but there are so many stories about this thing!” Hayato pulls his phone out, gesturing for you to come over to him. “Look.”

What he shows you is a grainy picture of a vaguely wolf-shaped animal. Its head is crowned by a pair of majestic horns, curling back over the sides of its head, like a ram’s. He flicks through the album, showing you a couple more shots of the thing.

“Supposedly it lives in America. There’s a lot of different names for it. I like the Bedford Beast the best, since that’s where it was first seen and all the other names are awful,” he says. “Everyone says they never remember much about the encounter, which is kind of a common thing with these kinds of creatures since so many ‘encounters’ are fake. I’m getting good at telling the real ones apart though.”

During the midst of his ramble, the two of you end up side-by-side on his bed. Hayato is mindlessly scrolling through forums on his phone and you’re keeping half an eye on the discussions he’s reading. Occasionally he asks you to translate an English phrase or two for him, but otherwise his grasp on the language is fairly solid.

“Does it, uh. Does it do anything?” you ask, shifting closer so you can get a better look at a post which reads, _GUYS STOP. THIS WOAT/GOLF/WRAM/ SHIT IS STUPID. JUST CALL IT A PREDATOR RAM!!!!_

“No?” Hayato asks, like the question confuses him. “Is it supposed to?”

“Nevermind,” you say. “What if it isn’t real though?”

“That’s okay,” he says, shrugging. The motion is made a little stiff because he’s propping up all his weight on his elbows. “It’s still fun to talk about. There’s still a lot more out there, too, so it’s not like I’m gonna run out of cryptids to investigate.”

“Yeah,” you say, resting your head on your arms and barely stifling a yawn. “Sounds . . . fun . . . ”

“Takahisa. Hey,” Hayato says, shoving your shoulder a bit. “Are you falling asleep?”

“No . . . ”

*

You wake up hours later, exhausted but feeling, somehow, better. Less emotionally drained. You’re still on Hayato’s bed, but he’s nowhere in the room.

The display on Hayato’s clock tells you _10:11_ in muted red letters. Ah, great, you’ve evicted him from his own room.

It seems wrong for you to be in here when he’s not, so you vacate as quickly as your sluggish body will let you go. Downstairs, Mama and Lambo are playing with a couple of kendama. Mama’s unfairly good at it; her hand-eye coordination is, frankly, scary.

“Is there any bread left?” you ask, rubbing your eyes.

“Yes. It’s on the counter,” Mama says.

“Mama’s showing Lambo tricks!” Lambo shouts, running up to you. “Look!”

Lambo attempts to flip the kendama, but winds up tossing the entire thing into the air instead. You catch it before it lands on him.

“Careful with that,” you say. “Did you ever go outside?”

Lambo pouts, taking the kendama back. “No. Mama said there wasn’t enough snow. But if it snows tomorrow she said she’d play with me even if there’s not a lot!”

“That sounds so fun!” you say. “Can I play too?”

Lambo giggles, attaching himself to your leg. “Yeah! Taka and Tsuna-nii can play! Stupid Hayato too, I guess.”

Mama wags a finger at Lambo, coming over to collect him from you. “Lambo-kun, no name-calling. I’m sure Hayato-kun would be very hurt if he heard that from you.”

“Good!” Lambo says, settling easily into Mama’s arms. She takes him back to the sofa, putting him down gently and taking a seat beside him. “I wanna hurt him!”

“That’s . . . huh,” you say. “Lambo-kun, even if you want to hurt others, don’t do it. Also, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I’m trying to tire him out,” Mama says, laughing when Lambo accidentally chucks his kendama onto the floor. “He just has so much energy, I hardly know what to do! I thought this might occupy him, but he’s more interested in watching me than actually trying . . . ”

“That’s pretty much what Tsu-kun and I were like too, though,” you say. “You were always really good at this kind of stuff.”

“Oh, no,” Mama denies, effortlessly flipping the entire kendama into a perfect circle, catching it, and hooking the ball back onto the stick. “I’m out-of-practice right now. I haven’t played with these since you two were a lot younger.”

“You weren’t even looking at that!” you accuse.

Mama’s musical laughter buoys your spirit, and you ride its wave all the way into the kitchen, where the last few slices of bread are waiting for you.

No one will care if you take the rest, right?

Right.

Tsuna and Hayato are probably sleeping, which means you won’t be able to take your plate upstairs. You sit out in the dining room instead, where Reborn is, once again, seated at his high chair, almost a permanent fixture at this point.

“I added Bianchi’s contact information to your phone,” he informs you, leaning over to steal a slice of bread off your plate.

“You terrify me,” you say, pulling your plate closer to yourself.

The bread is _so_ good. Mama’s baking is no joke. In fact, you’re surprised there was any left for you. Even before Hayato and Lambo moved in (and Takeshi started coming over frequently), Tsuna by himself had been generally capable of demolishing an entire loaf of bread or most of a cake.

“Don’t unlock your phone where I can see it,” Reborn counters.

You want to be irritated, but there’s no helping the smile that spreads across your face.

*

That night, you sleep in the guest room again. Hayato had been crashed out on your bed—a funny sort of role reversal—and you hadn’t wanted to wake him up. The floor also hadn’t been particularly appealing so you’d just decided to camp it out downstairs with Lambo.

“Taka, it’s cold!” Lambo says.

“Well,” you say, flicking the lights off and crossing the room to slip under the blankets, “Maybe it’s because you’re on the floor instead of in bed?”

“Nope!!” Lambo says, shaking his head. He does get up off the floor and join you, though, snuggling close to your chest. “I was pretending! Because there’s snow outside!”

“There—there sure is,” you say, words broken up by a massive yawn. “You wanna know something?”

“What?” Lambo asks.

“The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner it’ll be tomorrow,” you say, letting your eyes fall shut. “And the sooner tomorrow comes, the sooner you’ll be able to play.”

“Oh,” Lambo says softly. “‘Kay. Goodnight, Taka.”

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing hayato, more like *drops headcanon* oops *drops headcanon* oops *drops headcanon* oops *drops headcanon* oops
> 
> anyway. i cant believe i got to introduce bianchi in this chapter and i didnt even get to do a bunch of stuff i wanted with her but i promise that will come in the next chapters! i feel like i say that every time i post but it's true!
> 
> i have more takahisa art by urs truly!! [fullbody (almost)](https://jaggialliance.tumblr.com/post/623508300869369856/takahisa-dot-png-except-this-time-my-shoulders) | [halfbody](https://jaggialliance.tumblr.com/post/623500387144630272/ok-actual-serious-art-of-takahisa)
> 
> and last but not least: *insert obligatory comment begging*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the more i write, the more i realize that this fic is just going to be really, really slow. like, spend over 100k words in the daily life arc kind of slow. at its core, this fic is pretty much just the most self indulgent thing i've ever written, because i want tsuna & co. to actually be kids and have a life before all the mafia shenanigans start in earnest. that's not to say i don't have some major events plotted out, but like... they're not exactly my top priority.
> 
> also i'm genuinely so sorry for how long this took. have another super long chapter to make up for it, i guess?
> 
> thank you to my new beta [azurerath](https://azurerath.tumblr.com) for helping me out with the final edit!! youre the best ok!!!

Winter break starts on a Thursday; Thursday morning finds you, Haru, Takeshi, and Reborn at the park. Tsuna and Hayato have gone to the supermarket to buy flour since you’d forgotten, and Lambo and Mama are on a day trip to the amusement park in the next town over.

This means Reborn is the Designated Adult Supervision, which is simultaneously horrifying and hilarious.

It’s an odd little combination today—usually your friend group rotates around like this, but you don’t think Haru and Takeshi have ever really hung out. At least, not with just _you._ But it’s unexpectedly nice. Haru and Takeshi bounce off each other in unexpected ways—Haru’s hyper-focused, energetic personality never seems to perturb Takeshi in the slightest, and similarly, he doesn’t mind when she takes control of the conversation.

The two of them are chatting on the playset, garnering odd looks from younger children, and you’re sprawled across a bench, Reborn perched on the back of it and typing into his phone.

The one that’s too big for any of the pockets sewn into his clothes.

The one you’ve never actually seen him in the process of taking out.

You narrow your eyes.

“Reborn-sensei, I’m bored.”

“Why, hello, Bored—oh, wait. I’ve told that one about fifty times today,” Reborn says, irritation beginning to show in his voice. Oops. “Go play with your friends or find something equally entertaining to do. I’m busy.”

“Busy getting in touch with Bianchi?” you ask hopefully, awkwardly propping yourself up by the elbows in an ultimately futile attempt to look at Reborn’s phone screen.”She hasn’t contacted me yet . . . ”

“Did _you_ contact _her_?” Reborn asks, raising an eyebrow, while you adjust yourself on the bench so that you’re not halfway in danger of falling off it.

“Uh—no,” you admit. “Was I supposed to?”

“Call her. Now,” Reborn orders, tapping you lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll give you some advice for free—Bianchi doesn’t call first. She may talk big talk about contacting you, but she rarely if ever follows through.”

“Wow, free info,” you say, trying to let Reborn know you’re rolling your eyes without actually doing so. “So amazing. Okay, gimme a minute then.”

Stepping away from the bench and calling Bianchi is easy. Waiting for her to pick the phone up is _agonizing._

As the phone rings, you keep half an eye on Haru and Takeshi, who’ve moved on to crawling all over the small jungle gym—are they racing? Having some kind of a competition? You don’t know. Maybe it’s better not to wonder.

_Rrrring._

_Rrrring._

“ _Pronto_.”

“Uh, Bianchi-san! H-Hi!” Your voice comes out at a nearly inaudible pitch. It takes all you have not to flinch at how stupid you must sound.

Bianchi chuckles, but doesn’t comment. “Oh. It's you. Took you a while. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, laughing despite your embarrassment. “Reborn-sensei told me you, um, you like to be called first.”

“Finally said something, huh?” she asks.

“Yeah . . . so—”

You pause, taking a deep breath to stave off the slowly building anxiety. Why are you _like_ this? It’s just Bianchi, she’s _nice_! She helped you train and she’s actually good at it, unlike Hibari whose only goal is to fight you until you’re strong enough to give him a challenge.

You were fine thirty seconds ago. Can’t you keep being fine?

Another breath. Another breath. Another breath.

“Takahisa?”

“Yeah, gimme—gimme a moment,” you say, feeling oddly out of breath. Maybe a little lightheaded too. Power through it. “When do you want to do the next . . . training? Thing?”

“Any time is good for me. How about tomorrow? I’ll come pick you up,” she suggests.

“What time?” you ask, tapping your foot against the ground, trying to work out the nervous energy. Another quick glance at the playset shows Haru hanging upside-down on the monkey bars and Takeshi looking more than a little concerned. “Would three work?”

“In the morning?” Bianchi teases.

“No, in the afternoon, but you already . . . knew . . . that,” you say. “Didn’t you?”

“That works,” Bianchi says, clearly humoring you. Some part of you, the part that isn’t attempting to sink into the floor forever while Reborn laughs silently at you from fifty feet away, is grateful. If she’s humoring you, she’s not making fun of you. Not that she would, but you tend to assume the worst at all times _._ “See you then.”

She hangs up abruptly without even saying goodbye, leaving you feeling a little lost and out of your depth.

_It’s okay,_ you tell yourself. _It’s okay. She’s nice. You know her._

Do you, though? She’s different, so different from what you think you know.

You sigh frustratedly. It’s no use dwelling, speculating; you’re going to have to discover who she is on your own _,_ without letting your vague memories of what _could_ be cloud your judgement.

Sometimes it’s difficult to remember you’re an actual person, not just an outsider trying to fit in somewhere you don’t belong. It’s times like these—events that don’t completely match the mental blueprint of what you think is going to happen—that remind you you’re real.

“She said she’ll pick me up at three tomorrow,” you say, plopping down on the bench.

“In the morning?” Reborn asks.

You groan, smile coming unbidden to your face. “God, I can totally see where she got her sense of humor from. You’re a terrible influence.”

“Terrible is subjective,” Reborn says haughtily, hopping down from the seat and starting toward Haru and Takeshi. “I’m wounded.”

“What are you doing?” you call after him.

When it’s clear you’re not going to get an answer, you shake your head in exasperation and jog after him.

“Reborn-sensei?” Haru asks when she catches sight of him, easily letting herself down from the top of the playset. You pretend not to notice Takeshi’s full-body twitch in the background. “What’s up? Do you wanna be taken home?”

Reborn smiles, and you can’t help but feel bad for him. You’re not sure if it comes as a comfort to him that she calls him “-sensei,” or as an irritant because she only does that to play along. It’s not Haru’s fault she thinks he’s a regular baby, and explaining it to her would just cause complications, but it can’t be easy to be treated like a child near-constantly by complete strangers.

It had taken you years to get used to it, when you were still more Before than After, more jumbled and confused and caught halfway between two lives. It’s . . . still a headache, honestly, and your solution of just not thinking about it can’t be even remotely healthy, but hey. It works. Sort of.

“Let’s head home,” Reborn agrees, sticking his arms out towards Haru.

She blinks.

Takeshi blinks.

You blink.

“Reborn-sensei?” Haru asks slowly, crouching down next to him.

“Am I confusing you?” he asks, arms still raised in the air.

“Yes,” Haru says. “Do you want me to pick you up? I thought you liked Sawada-san better for that.”

“You’re Takahisa’s friend,” Reborn states. “You’re practically family. Now pick me up.”

You narrow your eyes. There’s no way in hell Reborn actually thinks that, is there? What’s his motive?

Haru, meanwhile, shares none of your compunctions, and is all too happy to scoop Reborn into her arms, cooing happily as she does so. It’s impressive, how much she likes kids, especially because she doesn’t even _have_ siblings. Or maybe that’s the reason.

Whichever it is, you’re glad for it; knowing the sheer amount of younger children who are already or are about to become a part of your life, you’d be a fool not to enlist her help or at least her advice on how to get along with them.

The only exception to this rule is Lambo, who’s somewhat of a fluke—he likes you so much it’s hard not to get along with him.

With I-pin? With Fuuta? Who knows?

“Ow!”

“Miura-san?” you ask. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” she says, frowning down at Reborn. “I just got shocked when I picked him up. Must have been the static electricity. It happened to me this morning when I left the house, actually!”

“It’s because the weather’s been drying out,” Takeshi supplies, sticking his hands in his pockets and falling into step with you.

He and Haru strike up another conversation, and you let the familiarity of their presence soothe away the last remaining vestiges of your Bianchi-induced anxiety.

*

“Lambo-kun, can we _please_ play later?” you beg, frantically pulling your socks on. “I’m gonna be late for my training. Stop pulling my hair!”

“But you said you were gonna play today!” Lambo whines, giving you the most heartbroken expression you’ve ever seen on a five year old.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, prying his hands away from your head. When he makes a forlorn sound, you turn to face him fully. “I really am. I forgot about training with Bianchi-san, and I made a promise to you I can’t keep. Can I make it up to you?”

Lambo’s lower lip wobbles in the way that tells you he’s trying to tell you something but he doesn’t want to cry, so you put a hand on his back and wait for him to be ready.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Next time Mama takes me to Kitty Land you have to come with me.”

“Okay. I’ll do that,” you say, ruffling his hair and standing. “I’ll see you later, okay? Don’t bully Hayato too much while I’m gone.”

Lambo makes a petulant face at you, but you stare sternly at him until he nods—and then you’re out the door, going down the stairs as fast as you can make it while not tripping over the debris left over from this morning’s booby traps that Tsuna had failed to clean.

You pass by Hayato in the living room. You don’t say hello—or rather, you can’t bring yourself to say hello. You hadn’t made it a secret of where you’re going, partially because it’d be hard to keep and because Hayato deserves to know, at least, that you’re going to be spending time with his sister.

He hasn’t told you how he feels about it, but from the look on his face you can take a guess.

Reborn comes out of nowhere as you come up to the front door, landing heavily on your shoulder and _clinging_ there even throughout the motions of you bending over to put your shoes on. At this point it barely even fazes you; as far as you’re concerned this has become an actual hobby of his, jumping out at you just to see how surprised you’ll be.

Bianchi is waiting with her arms crossed just outside your house, motorcycle idling softly underneath her. You’re a little out of breath from rushing but she doesn’t seem to notice, handing you her spare helmet.

“Keep it,” she says, after you buckle the strap. “It’s just taking up space at my new place. Reborn, should we go back to that abandoned factory?”

“It’s as good a place as any,” Reborn says. “I have yet to terrify the locals into lending me a more suitable space.”

“Excuse me?” you ask.

“That was a joke,” Reborn reassures you, as you—and by extension, Reborn—clamber onto the seat behind her, hands coming to rest on the plastic framing behind the seat.

“Was it, though?”

Reborn’s next words, whatever they might have been, are ripped away by the wind. It’s not snowing today, thankfully, but it’s still cold as all get out, and you, foolishly, had chosen to wear a thin, long sleeve shirt today instead of a jacket or anything even slightly warmer. This means you are really, _really_ feeling the weather, and when Bianchi finally stops the motorcycle, you’re itching to start moving so you can warm up.

“Can I use my Flames to keep me warm?” you ask, hugging yourself tightly. It won’t keep all the cold out, but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? “Tsuna’s Flames are really warm if he wants them to be.”

“At your level of control? Keep dreaming,” Reborn scoffs.

“So I can, is what you’re saying.”

“Not necessarily,” Bianchi says, moving her bike so it’s less in the way of the road. “Everyone uses their Flames in different ways. It’s easiest to do so in ways that align with your Flames’ property, but no two people are the same. Your Flames might never be able to scorch things, but then again, young Decimo may not be able to do everything you can.”

“Oh. That’s . . . interesting,” you say. “Still wish I could make myself warm. You know how it feels when you stick your hand under water so hot it feels cold? That’s how my Flames are like.”

“When you do _what_ now?” Reborn asks.

“No, not—it was a comparison! I don’t actually do that,” you say, wishing you could shove him off your shoulder but knowing he’s got an iron-like grip and wouldn’t be budged for the world.

“I’d say I was worried, but I don’t think you deserve that honor,” Reborn says, a bit on the snippy side.

Bianchi laughs. “Hello? Am I still here or not?”

“Oh! Sorry.” You brush your hair out of your eyes. “So, uh, what are we doing today?”

She smiles, seemingly pleased you’ve bothered to ask. “Remember how I mentioned weapons? How people with Cloud Flames do better with something like a gun to back them up?”

“Are you gonna give me a _gun_?” you squeak, sending her a horrified look.

“Ha! No. That’s not your style, is it?” she asks.

“My style is not killing people?” you try.

That’s true enough, isn’t it?

You’d like to avoid thinking about the high likelihood that you’ll be required to kill, and the fact that you’re . . . not actually all that bothered about it, if it’s for the sake of Mama or Tsuna or anyone else you consider yours. You don’t really want Reborn to know about that particular fact, though, because you’re _certain_ he would put your training on a fast-track if he caught on, and you don’t really want to be pulling ahead of Tsuna.

“That mindset isn’t going to get you very far,” she informs cheerfully, tone of voice completely incongruous with the subject at hand. “But no. Look.”

Bianchi takes a small, triangular object—obviously a weapon, but you don’t know what kind—out of the bag she’s carrying with her, thrusting it out towards you. As soon as you take it from her, she begins to walk, beckoning for you to follow.

It’s a little difficult trying to slide the sheath off while simultaneously trying not to eat shit tripping over the loose rubble, but you manage. It’s a dagger, though the blade is made of wood and not metal; it’s shaped oddly, though, like a lopsided T, and you can’t quite figure out how to hold it.

“Bianchi-san? What do I do with this?”

“It’s a push dagger. A practice one, at least,” she explains, leading you toward the same hollowed-out shell of the main building. “You hold it so that the blade sticks out from between your fingers. Find a comfortable grip.”

Puzzled, you twist the small knife around in your hand, slowly settling your fingers around the wide hilt.

“Like this?”

Bianchi studies your hand with a critical eye. “Close enough. You’re holding it too loosely, though—ah, and now your grip is too tight. Your hand is going to get very stiff if you clutch at it like that.”

You frown, and relax your fist a fraction. “What about now?”

“There you go,” she says. You stand there awkwardly with the wooden dagger in your fist while she circles you, appraising you. “Hm. Stand up straight.”

Bianchi smiles at you as you correct your posture, and instead of reassuring you like you’re fairly sure it was meant to do, her expression only sends a thrill of dread running through you.

“The first thing you need to know is that you will never be sparring against me or anyone else with a real weapon,” Bianchi says, going into Instructor Mode. “I don’t doubt my ability to avoid your attacks, but there is always the chance I’ll slip up. When you eventually get an actual weapon, you’ll only use it to kill, whether that be in offense or defense.”

Bianchi’s methods are refreshingly different from Hibari’s. It’s not like you didn’t occasionally border on enjoying your “training” with him, but learning under Bianchi, it feels like she’s actually trying to teach you for your own sake.

In contrast, Hibari only does this because he wants to be able to fight you someday. He may hold himself back on you, but if you’re not actively trying to kill him, it pisses him off. You kind of get the feeling he would encourage you to go at him with a dagger in your hand.

“Your dagger,” Bianchi continues, “is for stabbing. Not slashing or slicing. You are going to want to keep fights short and sweet—to injure someone’s weakest point as quickly as you can. And you stab with a punch, so show me a punch.”

You swing your fist out in front of you, wincing when she shakes her head.

“Like I told you before—your form isn’t bad. But keep your arms closer to your body. It gives you more precision, more force. And aim lower,” she instructs. “Good. Like that. I’m going to have to get you something to practice on.”

You try it again, and she nods, but like before, offers some criticism.

“Use your entire body. Twist your hips when you punch, let yourself carry all your power behind your strike. It’s good that you know not to stop when you think you’ve hit your target, but if your punches don’t have enough momentum behind them, they won’t do much,” Bianchi instructs. “In a real fight you will need to hit much harder than you have been.”

“It’s not going to be like this in a real fight, though, is it?” you ask, clenching your hand around the hilt. You like how it fits into your palm. The neck of the blade is an unfamiliar sensation between your index and middle finger, but you can see yourself getting used to it.

“Not even remotely. It will be faster, more chaotic, and with less time to think about each of your actions than what training can provide for you,” Bianchi responds. “Reborn is doing a good job with you so far, though. Even if it’s not what _I_ would have done, personally.”

“I can only tolerate so much attitude,” Reborn says airily, from where he’s watching the two of you. “Here’s a scenario for you. Takahisa, you’ve just been grabbed by someone who’s trying to hurt you. Your dagger is tucked into your waistband. What do you do?”

What is this, a choose your own adventure?

“I pull the dagger out?” you ask.

“Obviously. And then?” Reborn prompts.

“I . . . stab them?”

Stabbing is the obvious solution. Isn’t it?

“Where?” Reborn presses.

“Uh, the stomach, if I can reach it,” you say. “That’s a weak spot, right?”

“Yes. If you really want to hurt an opponent, though, try between the ribs,” Bianchi offers. “Or the underarm, if you can. In one fluid motion. You unsheathe the dagger and find the shortest path to a soft, fleshy spot. Let’s try it out, so you have some idea of what to expect. Clip the dagger onto your waistband and come here.”

When you reach Bianchi, she settles her hands on your shoulder and forearm.

“Stab me.”

Her matter-of-fact delivery is so stern, so commanding that you move nearly on instinct, whipping the dagger out and aiming just under her ribs. She dodges, of course, leaping nimbly out of your range, but you’d gotten . . . _kind_ of close to hitting her, hadn’t you?

“Good,” she compliments, moving back toward you. “But you need to be faster. Again.”

And again. And again. Until your arms feel shaky from the exertion, and Bianchi has you start working on kicks instead to conserve energy.

“So you said people with Cloud Flames work best with weapons?” you ask, snapping your leg out toward her unguarded left side and hissing in frustration when she grabs you by the ankle, harmlessly redirecting your strike.

“Yes,” Bianchi confirms. “Once you have a fairly good grasp on combat, you can try to propagate the blade of your weapon. A stab wound does a lot of damage—a stab wound that’s jagged and uneven does much more so. Or imagine a bullet that hits you, and then expands while it’s inside your body. Cloud Flames are dangerous when wielded by someone who has an intimate knowledge of their functions.”

“Is it hard?” you ask, transferring your dagger to your other hand to wipe off the sweat that’s been slowly gathering in your palms.

“I wouldn’t know. I have Storm Flames. But I’m guessing it’ll take you a while to reach that point,” Bianchi says, shrugging. You attempt to hit her while she’s distracted, but she catches your leg with one hand and raises an eyebrow. Damn it. “Now. Again.”

*

Bianchi keeps you with her until seven in the evening, after which she drops you and Reborn off at home. Riding on a motorcycle with her will probably never not be terrifying, but you guess it’s better than just plain not riding on a motorcycle.

It’s instinct to invite people over to dinner at this point, but before the words pass your lips you stop yourself. That . . . would _not_ end well.

“Hey, Bianchi,” you say instead, holding your helmet by the straps and swinging it lightly back and forth. “Is . . . ”

Ah, wait a minute. You can’t just ask her that.

“Is?”

“Nevermind. It’s, uh, none of my business,” you say, frowning at the ground.

“Is it about my brother?” she guesses. You wince. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “I don’t—I don’t really know what I was gonna say. Just, um. I hope everything—gets better? Not like—I know it’s probably really complicated but—and we’re not exactly friends, but like if you need to talk about it or anything I—”

“Takahisa, if your foot ends up any deeper in your mouth you’re going to end up swallowing your entire leg,” Reborn cuts in, knocking you lightly on the head.

“Ugh, gross . . . but yeah,” you say, unwilling to properly meet Bianchi’s eyes and choosing instead to stare at her cheek. “I hope that’s not weird or anything.”

The smile she gives you is so sad it makes you feel all shriveled up and horrible on the inside. _Why_ do people keep smiling at you like that?

“I said I don’t mind,” she repeats. “It is complicated, and I don’t know if he’ll ever want to talk to me about it. Thank you for the offer, but it wouldn’t be right for me to burden you with all that. I’m older than you, and your tutor at that; if anything, I should be the one telling you to come to me with any problems.”

“You can’t be _that_ much older,” you protest.

She chuckles. “Not really. I’m seventeen. But no offense—from my point of view, you might as well be a toddler.”

Reborn makes a noise of indignation. “You’ve just insulted toddlers all around the globe.”

“No, I get it,” you say, choosing to ignore Reborn. What the fuck, _seventeen?_ It doesn’t entirely surprise you—she definitely looks the part, and you’d suspected she was somewhere around that age range—but still. Having the actual confirmation that she’s not even twenty yet is kind of fucked up. “Uh—sorry. I should probably just go inside or something.”

Then again, you’re thirteen and undergoing training to help your brother succeed as the head of an influential mafia family so . . . isn’t that pretty fucked up, too? Can you even complain?

“Yeah,” Bianchi says, smile tilting a little to the side. “Have a good night. Call me again when you’re ready for another lesson. And don’t slack off!”

“Bye, Bianchi-san.”

She’s gone in a matter of moments, motorcycle speeding around the corner in a flash. You worry for her, honestly.

The faint smell of tonjiru greets you when you open the door of your house, and a reflexive smile blossoms on your face. _Fuck_ yes for winter food. You kind of wish you had been able to help Mama out with the prep, because you really love chopping vegetables, but sometimes it’s nice to come home and not have to do any work to eat.

“Hey, Reborn-sensei, I just had a thought,” you say, toeing off your shoes.

“Oh, no. Do we need to see a doctor?”

“Reborn-sensei . . . ”

“What?” he asks innocently. “Might hurt yourself.”

“You know what? Not worth it. As I was _saying,_ why isn’t Tsu-kun getting this kind of training?”

“He doesn’t need it,” Reborn explains. “Although I _do_ have someone in mind, who would ideally come over and run Tsunayoshi through the basics of his responsibilities as a boss.”

“Doesn’t need it?” you ask, offended. “Last time I checked I could beat him in a fight!”

“He can control his Flames much better than you can—and while Bianchi is teaching you, Hayato is showing Tsunayoshi some of what he knows. Furthermore, he’s had an unfair disadvantage due to . . . circumstances,” Reborn says.

“Circumstances?” you ask, unimpressed. Is it about the seal Tsuna has on his Flames? You’d thought that was broken already, or almost entirely gone.

“That is need-to-know information,” Reborn says loftily, jumping down from your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. And last _I_ checked, Tsuna has more raw power than you do and a better understanding of how a fight really works. Don’t forget that your training with Bianchi is, hm. Remedial.”

That’s true enough, you guess, but you don’t have to like it.

Whenever Tsuna does manage to hit you it usually hurts for days afterward, and ends in Tsuna apologizing profusely until you’re sick of it. It’s sweet that he watches out for you, but also, you’re not going to hate him just because he bruised you a bit during a sparring match.

It rankles a little that Reborn thinks Tsuna is that much better than you, though. Haven’t you been working so hard? What’s Tsuna even been up to?

“I guess you’re right,” you grumble, starting down the hallway.

You aren’t even halfway to the stairs before Hayato comes skidding into the room, panic and a hint of concern plain on his face.

“Hey, Haya—”

“Takahisa! You’re okay, right?” he asks, coming up to you and checking you over. “Did she feed you anything? Do you feel ill? Let me take your temperature—”

“I’m _fine,_ Hayato,” you say, pushing him gently away with one arm. You’re caught between laughter and some emotion that isn’t quite sadness, but which comes so close you might as well lump it in. Pity? Hayato would hate that.“No, she didn’t feed me anything, and even if she did, I would be fine.”

“You don’t know her!” he insists, concern giving way to anger as he stubbornly sticks to your side. He noticeably doesn’t greet Reborn, even when the hitman clears his throat. “I don’t know what kind of strings _he_ pulled to make her come here, but you can’t trust her! I know you always think the best of everyone, but you have to be careful.”

“I _can_ trust her _,_ ” you say. “And I’m going to, because I trust Reborn-sensei. She hasn’t hurt me yet. Do you honestly think he would call someone over here who would try to kill me?”

“He’s a hitman, killing people is what he does!” Hayato protests.

Reborn, still clinging to your shoulder, gives the two of you a scathing look. “You know what? Sort your drama out by yourselves. I’m getting dinner.”

“I mean, yeah,” you say, once he’s out of earshot. Probably. “But listen to yourself. You honestly think he’d want me dead? No. Hayato, it’s okay. I mean—not _okay_ okay but—I know she wouldn’t hurt me.”

It pains you to say this, and it’s clear it’s hurting Hayato, too. He pulls away from you slightly, expression tightening, and he says, again, quietly, “You don’t _know_ her.”

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry.”

It takes him a while to respond, but eventually, he shakes his head. “It’s . . . I guess it’s not your fault. Just be _careful,_ okay? You have to tell me if she does anything.”

“I will,” you promise. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, so I won’t pry. But I, um, I—it’ll get better the more time I spend with her, right? The longer she goes without, uh . . . poisoning me?”

Hayato shrugs helplessly, following you up the stairs, not letting you out of arm’s reach. “I don’t know. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

It’s clear Hayato is starting to recede, to shut down the conversation. You wish there was something you could do. You’re tired of not being able to fix things.

“You don’t need to apologize,” you say, pushing open the door to your room. Inside, Tsuna is doing his winter break homework packet at the table, while Lambo watches over his shoulder and occasionally tries to scribble on his paper. “I know you’re just worried about me.”

“Yeah,” Hayato says. His next words are halting and unsure. “Doesn’t make me feel any better, but I guess I just have to deal with it.”

“You could talk to someone about it,” you suggest. “Not, um, not me, not unless you want to. I don’t think I would be the best person for you to talk to. But I’m sure Mama would be willing to listen to you. Or Tsuna. I don’t know if you can exactly talk to a regular therapist about . . . about mafia problems. No, probably not.”

Hayato looks like he wants to laugh, but in that way that’s kind of watery and sad and ends up with one or more people in tears.

“It’s okay, I guess,” he says. “For—for now.”

Tsuna looks up as the two of you get closer. “Oh. Hey, Takkun, Hayato. What’s up? Did you . . . oh. Are you guys okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, tilting your head at him.

Hayato, meanwhile, gives a loose shrug that could be interpreted a _number_ of ways. “Getting there.”

“Cool,” Tsuna says, returning to his homework. “Hey, Hayato, can you help me with this? It’s science.”

Hayato looks immensely relieved to be able to do something other than fret over you, and he nearly teleports to Tsuna’s side. “Of course! What do you need help with?”

While the two of them do that—and Lambo continuously attempts to sabotage Tsuna’s papers—you unclip your newly-acquired practice dagger from your waistband, putting it away in the drawer of your nightstand.

“I’m gonna be downstairs, guys. Call me if you need me! Also if you’re starting on the math packet. I still haven’t done mine and it makes my head spin,” you say, waiting for an affirmative before slipping out the door.

Mama is on the downstairs computer when you get there. You don’t look at what she’s doing—you had found out early on that while she won’t complain about people looking over her shoulder, it definitely _does_ bother her—but from the corner of your eye it appears she’s checking her emails.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Takkun! How was your training?” The sentence fits awkwardly in her mouth, like she can’t fully believe she’s asking it. She sounds like this whenever she has to bring up mafia-related subjects; you’re not sure if that will ever change, but it makes you all mushy and warm inside to see that she’s trying, that she cares so much about you. “Was it fun? Oh, maybe that’s the wrong question. How did you do?”

“I did okay, I think?” you ask. “How much do you actually want to know?”

Mama levels you with a look that makes you laugh sheepishly. “All of it, Takkun—or at least, all that you feel comfortable with telling me. There is nothing you can confide in me that I don’t want to know.”

Oh, man, here she goes with the emotional and supportive stuff. Your heart is going to melt into a puddle of mush if she keeps this up.

“Yeah, but—”

“But _nothing_ ,” Mama interrupts, spinning her chair around to face you fully. “I want to know about these kinds of things. You can be transparent with me, and I actually encourage that. I know it must have been hard keeping this from me in the first place—Tsu-kun still doesn’t really like to talk about it with me, and I understand why, but that makes me want to hear you out even more. So that Tsu-kun feels safe coming to me with his worries, too.”

You are not going to cry. You are _not,_ dammit. You’ve already cried in front of Mama way too many times and you’d cried at least twice in front of Iemitsu, which had been enough to smash your dignity to smithereens.

You. Are. Not. Crying.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a deep breath to compose yourself. “I know it can’t be easy on you either. I don’t think anyone would have wanted this.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Mama says, sing-song, wagging her finger back and forth at you. “You don’t get to play therapist with me, Takkun. You’re my child, and it would be unfair of me to place that kind of burden on you.”

“Hey, that’s what Bianchi-san said! I can’t help it, though. It’s instinct!” you say, laughing. “I see someone I care about with problems and I have to find a way to help them. That’s just who I am.”

“And I’m very proud of you for it,” Mama reassures. “Just don’t take on more than you can handle.”

“I know, I know,” you say, lightly batting her hand away when she reaches up and tries to ruffle your hair. “So, Bianchi-san got me a practice dagger. In case I need to defend myself.”

“Mhm,” Mama says, and while she doesn’t exactly look _happy_ with that information, you know she’s only worried for you, instead of disapproving as you’d initially feared. “And how is that going?”

“Pretty good, actually! She showed me how to get away from someone who’s trying to grab me and I’m not, like, perfect at it or anything but she’s a good teacher,” you babble, gesturing with your hands while your mouth runs a mile a minute. Mama takes it all in good humor. “I mean, training with Hibari-senpai definitely _helped_ , but he mostly just wants someone to fight with, and Bianchi-san is helping me get better. She had a lot to say about my posture, though.”

Mama grins. “It’s good to know someone else is concerned with the state of your back. I swear, some days you look like a shrimp, with how hunched over you sit.”

“Hey!” you yelp, crossing your arms indignantly. “If you’re only gonna make fun of my posture, I’m out!”

“Sorry!” she apologizes, but she’s too busy giggling to really mean it. You fight to keep the scowl on your face, though it’s a losing battle. “Ah, wait, no! I really mean it! Takkun!”

“I can’t hear you over the sound of me leaving!” you call, making a show of stomping toward the kitchen.

She calls your name one more time, nearly unrecognizable, distorted as it is with her laughter. Your only response is a chuckle of your own, and then you’re around the corner, and she’s out of sight.

*

“Are we allowed to be here?” you whisper to Tsuna.

“I don’t know!” Tsuna says. “Reborn-sensei says he got special permission, whatever that means, but I dunno if I buy it.”

“Here” is the school gym, which is, of course, currently abandoned. “We” is you, Tsuna, and Reborn, who are here to practice sparring. You and Tsuna, at least; you’d probably actually die if Reborn fought you.

“I can hear you, you know,” Reborn says, a few paces in front of you and your brother.

“Oops,” Tsuna says. He doesn’t sound sorry at _all._

As the door of the gym shuts behind the three of you, Reborn begins with, “Tsunayoshi and Takahisa, you haven’t trained together for a while. You’ve both been learning different things, because your weak points are in different areas. Now is a chance to catch up with each other.”

“So we just fight?” Tsuna asks, sending you a sideways glance. “I’m all for sparring but you know Takkun kicks my ass every time, right?”

Reborn flaps his hand dismissively. “Just go at it.”

You huff, but it’s not entirely out of irritation. There’s maybe a _little_ fondness mixed in there. “I think this is the laziest training I’ve ever had. Is there, like, something he’s not letting on? Flaming booby traps that will kill us instantly if we take one wrong step?”

“Knowing Reborn-sensei? Yeah. Probably. I mean, it’s good practice, at least,” Tsuna says, looking resigned and taking up a place about ten feet away from you. “On three?”

“On three,” you agree.

As spars between you and Tsuna go, it’s pretty typical. He kicks, you dodge, you hit him; he punches, you fail to dodge, you get rocked by an absolutely horrendous amount of pain and Tsuna apologizes until you’re back on your feet, reminding him that he should actually be taking advantage of this.

“I’d feel so bad!” he says, putting his hands up. “I can’t just kick you while you’re down!”

“You can and should,” you say firmly.

“As much as it pains me, I’m going to have to agree with Takahisa here,” Reborn inputs.

“Uuuugh,” Tsuna groans. “I thought being a mafia boss was about boring sh—stuff? Paperwork? Cleaning after other people’s messes?”

“Part of that involves violence,” Reborn says, so wisely that you can _almost_ picture him as a benevolent mentor figure. “Especially now, when you haven’t fully taken over the family business yet. Lots of groups are going to be coming after you, you know.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Tsuna says, swiping at you.

“You can do better than that,” you reprimand.

“Can I, though?” Tsuna wonders, looking dramatically off into the distance.

“Uh, yeah! You sure can!” you encourage. “Come on, Tsu-kun. You gotta go all out. Hey, can we use our Flames?”

“You were supposed to,” Reborn says, sounding bored.

Ah.

“Okay, gimme a moment. I’m still kinda slow at—oh, come on!” you complain, when Tsuna’s eyes light up orange and a Flame manifests on his forehead, easy as anything. “I can’t believe you can just use your Flames on command. That’s just not fair.”

Tsuna’s face scrunches up, half-pleased and half-teasing.

“Try harder,” he says smugly, sticking his tongue out at you.

“Try har—oh, I’m so gonna beat you into the ground,” you promise. “ . . . As soon as I can get my Flames to actually cooperate.”

By your estimate it only takes about three or so minutes to relax enough for your Flames to want to do what you tell them to, which is genuinely much better than you’d been expecting. It’s always a game of chase with them, of trying to get your Flames under control without forcing it.

Distantly you realize this makes your Flames out to be sentient powers with a bad attitude, but hey. It makes sense to _you._

As always, the moment of truth is managing to open your eyes and concentrate on things other than your Flames, but this time it goes basically without a hitch, which is immensely relieving.

“Okay. Here we go,” you say, loosening your stance, bending your knees slightly, focusing on Tsuna who’s somehow gotten closer to you without your noticing. “Ready when you are.”

Tsuna is noticeably faster while his Flames are out and about. He doesn’t even seem to be actively _using_ them—it’s more like they’re passively boosting his fighting abilities, because whereas you had the upper edge on him five, ten minutes ago, now you’re the one struggling to keep up, and he’s not even using any fancy moves. He’s the same Tsuna, just faster, stronger.

God, Reborn was right—Tsuna _doesn’t_ need the kind of tutoring you do.

As the practice spar wears on, you begin to detach from the fight; your desire to win takes backseat to your keenness to observe Tsuna’s Flames.

Thinking about all the mechanisms of Sky Flames is enough to give you a headache, but you’ve got a little theory going that Sky Flame users can kind of . . . pick and choose, to put it simply, which properties their Flames take on.

Harmony is the main attribute Reborn had talked about, but from a combat point of view, it doesn’t really make sense, except as a culmination of the best of what all the other types of Flames have to offer. Maybe Tsuna is slightly Propagating his speed, his strength, maybe he’s Hardening himself so that your blows don’t deal as much damage as you want them to, or using Tranquility to clear his head so he can fight better.

Perhaps Harmony is all the other Flames coming together as more than just the sum of their parts. Something about that explanation feels so _right_ to you, so in line with the spirit of what Reborn’s been teaching, that you don’t really want to be proven wrong. Sitting and speculating is nice, but actually sharing your thoughts is an entirely different matter, one you aren’t very keen on lest Reborn shoots you down.

Ah, self-consciousness. How you love it.

There’s also the matter of Sky Flame users being able to somehow combine their Flames with others’ and create something entirely new—Tsuna’s Oath Flame with Enma comes to mind, and of course whatever Xanxus had going on with his Wrath Flames, but if that’s the only thing Sky Flames are capable of then Tsuna wouldn’t be using them right now against you. Also, your jumbled recollections are fairly fuzzy regarding all that.

There’s also the added complication that no two people use their Flames in the same way either. There’s so much variation to keep track of—not to mention your lack of access to people who an use their flames; you, Tsuna, Reborn, Bianchi, and Hayato as well as _maybe_ Takeshi are the only people you know who can use their Flames, and none of them have been exactly eager to demonstrate for you.

You haven’t actually asked, but that’s neither here nor there.

In any case, Tsuna’s Flames are a mystery to figure out another day, hopefully after you meet more people who use Sky Flames and can grill them about it, assuming they’re not going to be attempting to kill you.

A barely-dodged hook from Tsuna has you putting your theorizing on the backburner in favor of getting your head in the game. It’s been about fifteen minutes—agonizingly long for a spar, enough to have you noticeably slower and more tired—and you’ve only just managed to keep the fight at a standstill.

You suspect it won’t last much longer—either you’re going to lose, or Reborn is going to call it off because he’s getting bored.

Your favored tactic when it comes to Tsuna is tripping him and then getting him to give it up while he’s on the floor, but he’s not _letting_ you. Your Flames honestly aren’t doing that much for you—you’re a little faster, a tad stronger—so you guess you’re just going to have to rely on what little brawling skills you have to win.

And . . . that idea goes down the toilet when Tsuna dodges a punch from you before you even throw it, and uses your momentum against you to pull you forward, making you overbalance.

He pins you to the floor until you admit your loss, and as always, is overly-apologetic until you reassure him that yes, you’re fine, and no, it doesn’t hurt where you kicked me in the stomach.

“At least, not much,” you say. You’re quick to backtrack when he goes pale, reaching out toward you in concern. “I was kidding! I’m okay, really. Tsu-kun, I know you’d never really hurt me. You did _awesome_ , okay?”

“But—”

“Better than I expected, certainly,” Reborn chips in. He crawls up Tsuna’s side, not even blinking when your brother tiredly protests the weight on his shoulders. “You pulled an odd move, Tsunayoshi, dodging nothing.”

“I was _going_ to punch him,” you say, unable to keep the slight irritation out of your voice. “But somehow he dodged it. Oh, god. You’re a mind-reader now. Or just insanely lucky.”

“Mind reader might not actually be that far off,” Reborn muses. “It seems Tsunayoshi here has inherited the family gift.”

“Not another one,” Tsuna complains. “The mafia was bad enough, the magic superpowers—all right, maybe not bad, but they’re stressing me out way more than they should be! I don’t need even more obscure inheritance stuff on top of that.”

“Too bad. You have it,” Reborn says. “I’m talking about Hyper Intuition. All Vongola bosses have had it to some degree. It’s a closely-guarded secret, shared only with the boss’s most trusted associates.”

“How come _you_ know it?” Tsuna asks.

“I’m the World’s Greatest,” Reborn states loftily. “No one keeps secrets from me.”

“Eh. Probably code for someone told him because he had to come teach you,” you say to Tsuna, quickly looking away when Reborn turns his all-knowing, all-consuming gaze onto you. “I mean . . . of course not! You know everything, obviously.”

“Hmm. I’m not impressed with you,” Reborn says, just to make sure you’re aware.

“Join the club,” you say. “Though, there’s a waitlist.”

“Hey! No self-deprecating jokes!” Tsuna says, flicking you lightly on the arm. You scrunch your nose at him. “I mean it.”

“Back on topic, you two,” Reborn orders. “Did you two learn anything from this fight?”

“Uhhhhh . . . ”

The face Reborn makes is one of pure despair, one that reads, _I’m never going to be free of these idiots, am I?_

“You learned,” Reborn says slowly, “that you shouldn’t assume what your opponent is capable of, and that you should always be trying your hardest to win. Tsunayoshi, you went into it believing you would lose. Takahisa, you weren’t even paying attention for half of the fight, and didn’t even use your Flames until Tsunayoshi suggested you should. Were you even taking him seriously?”

“I—um . . . no, not really,” you admit, ashamed. You’d been too focused on thinking about what Tsuna could do in the future instead of what he can do now, and training separately from him had falsely given you the illusion that he hasn’t been progressing. “Sorry, Tsu-kun.”

“It’s okay!”

Tsuna is always quick to reassure you, and while on some level it works, it mostly just makes you feel bad.

“Yeah,” you say. “I won’t do it again though. That was my bad.”

Tsuna smiles brightly at you, and the sight of that is enough to ease most of your misgivings. He isn’t the type to stay mad, and honestly? Winning against you has probably given him a badly-needed confidence boost.

“Yeah, yeah,” Reborn grouches, covering his face with his hands, likely to block out you and Tsuna’s perceived mushiness. “You’ve had your emotions and whatnot, and now you’re up to speed on what each of you can do. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what comes next.”

“Going home?” Tsuna guesses hopefully.

Reborn sighs deeply. “If I have to spell it out, I’m going to make _you_ train with Hibari this week instead of Takahisa.”

. . . Hm. Maybe Reborn isn’t immune to Hibari’s “so scary I can’t refer to you by first name even in my head” aura, either.

“N-nope! I hear you, loud and clear!” Tsuna says, while Reborn hops off his shoulder and scurries up one of the basketball poles on the far side of the gym. “I’m just gonna, uh, go spar with Takkun now!”

*

The next day, Reborn grants you and Tsuna a break.

Sundays are usually focused on schoolwork and drilling information about Vongola into your heads—for example, who knew their main legitimate business was a fishery? Maybe that should have been obvious. You know Vongola gets most of its money from . . . other sources, but the point is you’ve been thinking nonstop about grilled clams for about a solid week now, growing progressively more annoying about it until today, when Mama had finally given in and run to the market to get some.

You want to believe he allowed the rest period because he feels bad about pitting you and Tsuna against each other, but in reality it’s probably because he wants a day off. He’s currently in the kitchen with Mama, assisting her with said clams while Lambo gets underfoot. You’ve never seen Reborn cook before, and you can’t say you’d expected that to be a part of his skillset, but honestly? Nothing should surprise you about this man anymore.

Conveniently for you, today’s the day Haru and Kyoko are doing their Christmas shopping. You don’t even celebrate Christmas, but for whatever reason, they’d both wanted you to tag along.

Other than a few exchanged words, you’ve never talked to Kyoko, so you’re definitely feeling at least a little nervous.

“Mama!” you say, sticking your head into the kitchen.

“Yes, Takkun? Are you leaving now?” she asks, motioning for Reborn to pass her the green onions.

They’re making some kind of salad to go with the clams. You don’t know exactly what it is but you know she’d been surfing the internet for recipes yesterday evening, and any recipe she finds on the internet is carefully looked over by her, meticulously inspected ingredient by ingredient to make sure it actually looks good. Mama _never_ cooks bad recipes.

“Uhh, yeah!” you say, hands clenching and unclenching in the fabric of your hoodie. Today is oddly warm considering it had been snowing earlier this week, so you probably don’t even the hoodie, but you like to play with the ends of the sleeves. “I don’t know when I’m gonna be back. I’ve never been shopping with them so I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but I think it probably won’t take that long. Maybe an hour?”

“That’s fine by me!” she says, pausing in her prep to send a quick smile your way. “Let me know when you’re coming home so I can start cooking.”

“Okay! Bye, Mama and Lambo-kun!”

“Bye, Taka!”

“Bye, Takkun! Have fun.”

You get about five steps down the hall before you remember Reborn exists, and you call out, “See ya later, Reborn-sensei!”

“Whatever,” is the response you get, and honestly? It’s better than nothing.

The walk to the train station from your house is short. You don’t get to go on the train by yourself very often—after all, school is within walking distance, as are most of the small shops you frequent. And before you were thirteen—only a couple months back—Mama just plain hadn’t _let_ you, citing your youthfulness as the main factor in her decision.

You won’t deny that it feels good to have a little independence.

All in all it takes around fifteen minutes to get there, and then it’s just a matter of finding Haru and Kyoko.

**You:** i’m near the statue of the old man.

**Miura Haru:** Oh. I’m already inside with Kyoko-chan!

**You:** what shop?

**Miura Haru:** We’re in the food court. Kyoko-chan forgot to eat breakfast so we’re getting yakisoba bread at the bakery.  
**Miura Haru:** She is, I mean. I already ate.

**You:** not tasty bakery? lol. betrayal.

**Miura Haru:** She doesn’t live near Tasty Bakery!!! Kyoko-chan takes the train, remember??

**You:** no. she’s not my friend, really.

**Miura Haru:** Oh, yeah. I forgot. Well she’s GOING to be your friend!!! She thinks you’re cool!

**You:** really?

**Miura Haru:** Yes!!! Who WOULDN’T think you’re cool?

**You:** you don’t want me to answer that. tsu-kun has me on self-deprecation watch.

**Miura Haru:** I do too, now that you told me about it!

**You:** hahaha. ok see you in a moment.

Haru and Kyoko are waiting for you at the south entrance of the food court. Kyoko, apparently, is a world-champion speed eater; she’s throwing away the wrapper of her bread by the time you reach them.

“Um. Hi,” you say, feeling more than a little out of place.

“Hey, Sawada-san!” Haru greets, linking arms with Kyoko. You think she’s about to do the same for you, and you prepare to evade her, but she doesn’t, instead only pulling Kyoko closer to her.

“Hi, Sawada-san,” Kyoko echoes, not as enthusiastically as Haru but kind all the same.

“So. Christmas shopping?” you prompt.

“Yeah! We have a list of ideas for stuff we wanna get for everyone. I mean, you and Sawada-kun and Yamamoto-kun and Gokudera-kun. Also Lambo-kun and Reborn-sensei!” Haru says excitedly. “You’re gonna have to go somewhere else when we get yours, though—it’s a secret.”

“Oh, um, okay,” you say. “Did you want me to give you presents too?”

Haru and Kyoko shake their heads in unison.

“That’s okay,” Kyoko says. “You don’t have to unless you want to. I know most people who do Christmas stuff just celebrate it as a . . . as a, um, romantic holiday. But Haru-chan came up with the idea and I really liked it!”

“That’s very generous of you, Sasagawa-san,” you say. She begins to shake her head. “No, really! I mean, we don’t know you that well? At least, I don’t—Miura-san said she’s been friends with you since childhood, right? So yeah. I appreciate it. And I’m sure everyone else will too. Also—just as a heads-up, you _are_ going to split the pay with me.”

“That’s fine! It’s really good of you to offer, Sawada-san. And, you know, you _could_ get to know me,” she offers. “We’re in the same class and everything. And Haru-chan is friends with you already, so I think it’d be fun!”

“Yeah,” you say, and then with more confidence behind your words, “Yeah! That sounds like it would be really cool!”

That is, if you’re not so awkward it makes her uncomfortable. You already feel like you’re floundering, just because Haru is a relatively new friend and you don’t know Kyoko very well than what you remember from Before. And as you’re beginning to learn, you can’t keep relying on Before—you need to step back and let people be themselves, without whatever opinions you’ve already formed about them clouding your judgement.

“Awesome!” Haru says, bouncing slightly in place. “Okay, so first up let’s go to Daiso! I was gonna get some notebooks and pens for Gokudera-san because Kyoko-chan said he seems to take notes all the time. We can also get gift wrapping there. What do you think?”

“That’s probably a pretty safe bet,” you say, following as Haru takes the lead. “He has a lot of projects that he writes down, so he burns through notebooks like _crazy._ ”

“Perfect,” Haru says. “Kyoko-chan, didn’t you need a spatula? We can get it there too.”

Kyoko makes a little noise of recognition in the back of her throat. “I almost forgot. Thanks for reminding me—yeah, we can get it there, or I can stop by a different store on my way home.”

“It’s easier to just make one trip,” Haru points out.

“But it’d take longer,” Kyoko protests weakly.

“Since when have I ever cared about that?” she asks, as the three of you enter the fairly crowded Daiso. “Okay, the cooking section’s closer. Let’s go there first.”

“What did you have in mind for everyone else?” you ask curiously, keeping a lazy eye on Kyoko, who’s carefully browsing the kitchen implements. She doesn’t even seem to be looking at spatulas, but you honestly can’t blame her; you also have a tendency to become absorbed in checking out measuring cups, bowls, pots, pans, anything that catches your eye. “If you want, you can run the list by me. I might be able to help.”

“That’s a really good idea,” Haru says, just as Kyoko returns with a spatula tucked into the bottom of the shopping basket. She’d insisted on carrying it, and neither you nor Haru had been particularly interested in putting up any complaint about it. “You already know about what we’re getting for Gokudera-san, so I don’t have to repeat that. Kyoko-chan said Yamamoto-kun is into baseball, so we were thinking of maybe getting him an equipment bag? Something affordable. There’s a sporting goods store on the other side of the mall, so we might just have to go in and look until we find an okay gift. I don’t know much about sports, except for what Kyoko-chan tells me about tennis.”

“Hmm, okay. That’s a pretty good start!” you say. “But honestly, I think sports stuff probably tends to be a little expensive, if you want it in any kind of quality. How about a sketchpad? I know Yamamoto-kun likes doodling sometimes.”

“Oh, really?” Kyoko says, though it doesn’t seem like she disbelieves you. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Haru, what’s that arts-and-crafts store you get your yarn at?”

“Tokyu Hands!” Haru answers. “I think they have a pretty wide range of stuff. I usually don’t visit any sections but the knitting ones, though . . . I think that one’s pretty close to here, but I’ll have to check the map.”

“Okay, so that’s probably that for Yamamoto-kun,” you say, double-checking the aisle header to make sure you’re going into the stationery and office supplies aisle and not the tupperware aisle. “Who next?”

You begin to sift through various notebooks and pens, while Kyoko takes over for Haru.

“I’m mostly the one who came up with these,” she says, sounding apologetic for some reason. “I honestly got a bit stuck with your brother. That’s part of the reason we invited you—not all of it! Haru-chan and I both think you’re great.”

“It’s okay. I get it,” you say, picking up a simple black spiral-bound notebook with grid paper on the inside. Hayato would probably like that, wouldn’t he? Better get two. “Smart of you. Anyways, Tsu-kun likes helping Mama out with the gardening. He's also . . . kiiind of into manga? Like, he usually buys the weekly Shounen Jump. But I know merch is really pricey.”

“It is,” Kyoko sighs. “All the figurines I want are in the twenty thousand yen range. But you know what’s cheap? Succulents! I saw a bunch in a display up front.”

“Nice,” you say, grabbing a 12-pack of ballpoint pens from one of the wall-hangers. It’s the cheapest you could find; you just _know_ Hayato would kill you if you spent a lot of money on pens he’s going to run dry in a month at most. “Who’s next?”

“You, but that’s a secret!” Haru chimes in, coming up to drop a keychain into the basket. “That’s my present for you, by the way, Kyoko-chan. You can hang it on your cellphone!”

Kyoko beams, and the brightness of her smile nearly sends you to your knees. How does she _do_ that?

“And then?” you ask, attempting to recover from the damage she’s done to you.

“We were going to get some grape jellies for Lambo-kun, and a stuffed animal for Reborn-kun!” Haru says. “Or something else cute. I saw a cat neck pillow earlier that would look so adorable with him.”

The idea of Reborn with a longcat neck pillow is almost enough to send you into a fit; luckily, in the interest of not embarrassing Haru and Kyoko for the next ten years, you manage to tamp down the urge to giggle uncontrollably.

The thing is, Reborn would probably _like_ something like that. And then you’d get to see him with the thing every single day.

“Sounds perfect!” you encourage. “We can get most of that stuff here, right?”

“Yeah! I think we just need to stop at Tokyu Hands for Yamamoto-kun’s stuff, and—Kyoko-chan, is that for me?” Haru asks, cutting herself off before she can finish explaining to you.

“For us!” Kyoko says, holding up a pair of phone cases. They’re both light blue, but one has a print of a Maneki-neko looking to the left, and the other has it looking to the right. “Look, they’re matching.”

“Kyoko-chan,” Haru sniffs, sounding genuinely emotional. “Have I ever told you you’re the best?”

Kyoko preens, gently placing the phone cases into the basket, which is filling up far faster than you’d expected it to. “You have, but it never hurts to hear it again.”

“You’re the best!” Haru near-shouts, jumping a little in place. It nets her a couple of glances from passersby who are doing their best to act like they aren’t paying attention, but if she notices, she takes no heed of it.

After you’ve made all your rounds through the store, looping back once or twice for forgotten items, the checkout line has cleared up a little. You’ve been in here for longer than you expected—a staple of shopping with friends—and you send off a quick text to Mama apologizing for the wait, and letting her know you’ll probably be out for a while yet.

The total comes up to around 4700 yen, which would have made you weep if you were paying by yourself. It’s not _that_ much compared to the amount you’ve saved up over the years, but still.

Tokyu Hands only takes about ten minutes total, in and out—in fact, you and Kyoko barely even have to do anything. Haru breezes through the art supplies aisle, scanning every brand of sketchbook with a critical eye and finally settling on a simple sixty-page multimedia pad.

“You know, I might have gotten delayed in the yarn aisle, but I was smart,” Haru brags, handing you the bag with Takeshi’s sketchbook in it. “I binged on buying yarn last month, so I have way more than I know what to do with.”

“I don’t know if I would exactly call that smart, Haru-chan,” Kyoko says teasingly. “Sawada-san, we’re gonna stop at AEON for a little. Last shop, I promise. Buuut, this one’s for your present, so Haru-chan and I need you to hang around one of the other shops, okay?”

“Like where?” you ask, looking around.

“How about that Gong Cha?” Haru suggests. You follow her line of sight towards the milk tea shop, and find yourself nodding. “Can we text you our orders, and you get something for us? We’ll pay you back for it!”

“Uh, it’s fine. You don’t have to,” you say. You want more than anything to take her up on that offer, but friends aren’t really supposed to be anal about the price of buying tea for other friends, so . . . yeah. “Sasagawa-san, I don’t think I have your number.”

Kyoko whips out her phone so quickly, it’s like she had been waiting for this moment. “Here’s my contact list! Just put your number in and I’ll text you so you can get my info.”

You enter yourself in as **Sawada Takahisa** , but when Kyoko takes the phone from you, you see that she immediately adds a string of cute faces onto the end of your name, so now it looks more like **Sawada Takahisa** ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶ (✧ω✧) (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ. Is it normal to fear the speed at which she manages to type them out?

Probably.

**Unknown number:** Hi Sawada-san o(>ω<)o

**You:** hello, sasagawa-san.

**Sasagawa Kyoko:** (￣▽￣)

You send Kyoko and Haru off to AEON with a smile and a wave, and then you’re faced with a monumental task: queueing up in the long, _long_ line in front of Gong Cha. They text their orders—a medium taro tea with no boba for Kyoko and a green thai tea with no ice and extra boba for Haru—to you well before you reach the counter, and actually manage to get back a few seconds before you’re handed the drinks.

“You didn’t get anything for yourself?” Haru asks quizzically, taking her tea and sipping at it.

“Didn’t really feel like it,” you say, not mentioning that it’s because you’re cheap. When you spot the already gift-wrapped package in the bag hanging off Kyoko’s elbow, you laugh. “Wow, you two really don’t want me to know what that is, huh?”

“Yup! It’s a secret,” Kyoko sing-songs. “Do you wanna come over and help us wrap the other stuff, though? It always feels more personal when a gift is hand wrapped, in my opinion.”

You check the time. It’s just past three. That’s plenty of time to gift wrap a couple of things, even accounting for the delays you know are going to happen.

“Sounds fun. I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments? comments for cirrus?
> 
> also have some songs ive been into lately: [doused](https://youtu.be/KI79GPXAICM) by diiv, [tears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7Hh8QxRpWY) by boy harsher, and [things i don't need](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6flFrl3q2w) by human tetris.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i intended this to have other scenes and be as long as a full chapter was, but in the end i decided to just post it as-is because it was causing me some weird writers' block thing. i'm sorry this is shorter than usual!!! i'm like not that happy with it but there are some parts that i think are kind of good and i figured sharing it is better than deleting it.
> 
> also, i made a sort of important decision about this fic and like. where it'll go. bc i really, really love the daily life arc, and i can see myself spending forever in it. which means that if i moved onto the mukuro arc, it would turn this thing into a monster of a fic. so i decided that i'm ending it after the daily life arc (because that's what i'm most passionate about writing and it's my favorite part of the entire manga) and if i have the motivation, i will turn it into a series and continue off with the mukuro arc in another fic!

Christmas day is surprisingly hectic.

Haru, Kyoko, and Takeshi are over because they’d wanted to give the presents out all at once, and your house is the most convenient place to do so. Mama had been over the moon at the prospect of having even more friends over—and by extension, mouths to feed—so even though Christmas isn’t a thing your family really does, she’d looked up sugar cookie recipes yesterday, and she and Hayato are baking at a scale so large you honestly can’t properly comprehend it.

There are ten cookie sheets on the counter.

_Ten._

“It smells _so_ good in here,” Haru gushes, stepping over the threshold of the house while Tsuna stares at the both of them like he’s just won the lottery. You jostle him with your shoulder, snorting when he pouts at you. “What’s baking?”

“Cookies,” Tsuna supplies, eyeing the gift bags in their hands. At Kyoko and Haru’s behest, you’d kept this a secret from him. You don’t think he’ll mind; Tsuna loves pleasant surprises. “What’s all _that_ , though?”

“Presents!” Kyoko says happily, lifting the bags to show them off. “We got them for all of you.”

It takes a moment for Tsuna to process that, and then he panics. “W-What!? I—I don’t have anything for you, though! I’m so sorry, you probably h—”

“Thank you,” you say, cutting him off and rolling your eyes when he smiles gratefully. “Come on, guys. Mama’s got the kotatsu set up in the living room and Takeshi-kun and Reborn-sensei are already at two of the spots, so unless you want to share . . . ”

Those are the magic words. All at once, Haru, Kyoko, and Tsuna take off down the entrance hall. Tsuna turns the corner so hard he nearly wipes out, and Kyoko and Haru end up snatching the two spots remaining.

“Sorry!” Kyoko says, laughing and not sounding remorseful in the slightest. She sets the gift bags down near the corner of the table, while Haru snuggles under the kotatsu until she’s nearly all the way underneath it. “And really, Sawada-kun, please don’t worry about giving me or Haru-chan any gifts in return.”

Tsuna doesn’t look exactly happy about that, but he takes a seat next to Lambo on the sofa, perched awkwardly on the edge of the cushion.

“I think I’m gonna go see what’s up in the kitchen,” you say, already beginning to slip out of the room.

“Noooo!” Tsuna protests, futilely reaching out to you as Lambo pounces on him, demanding attention. “Don’t _leave_ me here!”

“Hmm. I think I will,” you retort.

You hear a faint conversation kick up once you’re almost out of earshot—hopefully Tsuna won’t do too badly. You’re fairly sure he’s still _somewhat_ into Kyoko, though he’s always to embarrassed to talk about it. That’s fine by you. As long as he’s happy and doesn’t do anything stupid, you’ll support him.

Mama and Hayato have just slid the first two cookie sheets into the oven when you round the corner. A few of the other sheets are full of perfect round dough balls, some with chocolate, some without, and you think you can see a few dusted with sugar and— _CINNAMON._

“Mama!” you cry.

“Huh? Takkun, is everything okay?” she asks, turning around and gently kicking the oven door shut.

“You didn’t tell me you were making snickerdoodles!” you say, crossing the kitchen in a few long strides and throwing your arms around her. “Did you know you’re actually the best mom in existence? That I love you and would die for you?”

“Woah. Let’s not go _that_ far,” Mama says, raising an eyebrow and pushing you out to arm’s length.

“It’s a joke!” you lie.

“With you? I can never tell,” Mama sighs, shaking her head. Her body language says she’s exasperated but all that’s on her face is fondness. “Why don’t you go help Hayato-kun? He’s greasing the next set of pans right now. You could help shape the cookies.”

“Okay,” you agree, stepping away from her to join Hayato on the other side of the kitchen. He’s working with a stick of butter, sliding it over the pans with an expression of extreme concentration on his face. “Hey. Where’s, uh, where’s the cookies?”

Hayato points toward a couple plastic-wrapped rolls of dough on a cutting board. “Cut those into half-inch circles,” he orders. After a beat, he coughs, and adds, “I—n-not that I want to command you or anything! Only if you feel like it.”

“You’re fine, Hayato,” you respond, nudging him gently with your elbow. “It’s okay to tell people what to do. Well, sometimes.”

Oddly enough, that doesn’t seem to reassure him in the slightest, but he doesn’t raise any complaint about it, instead turning back to his work.

The monotony of chopping things in the kitchen is soothing—the thunk of your knife against the wooden cutting board and soft, grainy sound of the cold dough falling to the side relaxes you. You even begin to zone out. At least, as much as you can while handling a sharp object.

As you make your way through both rolls of dough, Hayato snatches the already cut pieces and lines them up on the tray. Somehow he manages to space them perfectly evenly on the first try, never having to stop to adjust the positions of the cookies.

“By the way, what are these?” you ask, lifting your hands to your face and taking a whiff of the distinct scent of lavender. “Smells really good.”

“Tea cookies,” Hayato explains, bringing both trays over to where Mama is. “We used the rest of your earl grey for them. Mama said—”

Hayato cuts himself off.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

Simultaneously, the two of you look at Mama, who’s off in her own world, rolling balls of cookie dough between her hands.

Hayato clears his throat.

“ _Sawada-san_ said—”

“Hey, I heard that!” you interrupt, pulling a bowl of cookie dough toward yourself while Hayato gets to work on the next two cookie trays. “You know Mama would freak if she knew you say that. I mean, in a good way! She’d be over the moon.”

Hayato laughs, fairly obviously in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “Yeah, uh, no,” he disagrees. “That was—uh—I mean—I can’t disrespect her like that!”

“Disrespect? Hayato, accidentally calling her your mom is the _furthest_ thing from disrespect. I’m pretty sure I’ve already told you this, but like—she definitely already thinks of you as family. I do too. And Lambo-kun’s already calling her Mama. I understand if, like, you don’t want to. But I’m just saying that you could,” you ramble, rolling a ball of dough between your palms.

Was that too much? Maybe it was. It’s a while before Hayato responds again.

“Yeah, I know,” he says eventually. “Make sure the cookies aren’t too big.”

Did you say something wrong? Did you push him too hard? Ugh, you and your habit of sticking your nose into places it doesn’t belong.

“ . . . Got it.”

*

You are personally responsible for devouring half of all the snickerdoodles; Kyoko decimates the rest of the batch, and before you know it she’s begging Mama for the recipe.

Haru, meanwhile, is rummaging through the two bags of presents, pulling everything out and enlisting Tsuna’s help in handing them to the occupants of the living room. Reborn merely accepts his quietly, scanning the decidedly neck-pillow-shaped present with an amused smile—but to your horror, Lambo immediately smushes his against the floor, cackling in delight when it crinkles.

“I hope you like these!” Haru says, bouncing back towards the sofa to sit down next to Kyoko.

“Sawada-san helped pick them out!” Kyoko says.

“Oh. Yeah. That’s what I was doing on Sunday,” you inform, since you hadn’t told Tsuna or Hayato your plans except for a vague handwavy non-explanation.

“Huh. I thought you were just doing nerd stuff,” Tsuna teases, smacking your hand away when you reach over to flick his ear. “Stop that.”

“‘Nerd stuff,’ says the guy who dragged me to the store yesterday because he forgot to pick up the new copy of Shounen Jump,” you say, raising an eyebrow and pulling your present closer to yourself. It’s a thin, rectangular package a little bigger than your hand. You don’t want to assume, but you hope it’s a game. “I couldn’t be more of a dork than you if I tried.”

“Can I open this?” Takeshi asks, holding his present up and shaking it, cutting Tsuna off before he can reply.

“Yeah, go ahead!” Kyoko encourages, clasping her hands together in front of her.

For the next couple of seconds, the sound of shredding paper is the only thing to be heard. Mama, Kyoko and Haru watch the proceedings with interest—Mama’s perched on the arm of the sofa, peering over your shoulder at . . . at . . .

_Monster Hunter 2._

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“YES!” you shout, throwing your hands up in victory. “YES! I’m going to play this for a million hours, oh my god. _Yes._ This is my favorite game! Miura-san, Sasagawa-san, how’d you know to get this?”

Haru laughs, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. “Um, remember when we were all at the park?”

“Yeah?”

As Takeshi makes a soft little “ah” of realization, Haru explains, “I might have been—interrogating Yamamoto-kun about you? He knew you liked Monhun, so, uh—yeah.”

You clutch the game to your chest. The urge to just abandon everyone and go upstairs to play is strong, but you’d feel bad later if you did, and Lambo would definitely whine about it and then you’d have to make it up by playing along with whatever game he decides to come up with.

Which honestly isn’t that bad, but.

Priorities.

Speaking of Lambo, though . . .

“JELLY!!!!” Lambo screeches, attempting to tear open the plastic package with his teeth right away.

“Lambo-kun,” Mama reprimands gently, getting up and extracting the bag from his grip. “Don’t use your teeth. See here? It has a place for you to tear.”

While Mama coaches Lambo on the intricacies of accessing the contents of a container, you check on the others.

Tsuna is holding his tiny potted hen and chick with an expression of pure wonder on his face, Takeshi is flipping through his sketch pad, Hayato is already scribbling in his freshly-acquired notebook, and Reborn’s longcat neck pillow is fit snugly around his neck.

“Sooooo,” Kyoko says, obviously happy at how things have turned out. “Can I assume these presents were okay for everyone?”

“Yeah!” Takeshi says, shutting the sketchbook. “This was really thoughtful of you.”

“ _Hen and chick,_ ” Tsuna breathes, carefully setting the succulent down onto the top of the kotatsu. “These things are awesome. Mama has like, twenty in the backyard.”

“Hm. My verdict? Passable,” Reborn says, pulling the ends of the pillow closer to himself. “You’d better outdo yourself next year.”

“Oh, really?” you ask, unable to stop a smile from coming to your face. “ _Just_ passable? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I—”

“Hey, Reborn! Catch!”

You watch in barely concealed glee as Lambo stands, pulls a little cup of jelly out of the bag and chucks it straight at Reborn’s face. It flies through the air in a near-perfect arc, colliding with a smack against Reborn’s cheek.

The jelly falls into his lap.

Reborn looks down at it.

Looks back up at Lambo.

“You have five seconds to run.”

*

Lambo and Reborn’s game of knockdown tag turns into an all-out battle between them and the other members of the household (including Kyoko and Haru, because now that Mama knows them she’s probably going to think of them as part of the extended family).

Takeshi has to leave about halfway in—his dad had wanted him home for something-or-other—and while that definitely puts a damper on things, the game picks back up in no time.

By the end of it everyone is exhausted, enough to completely clean out another two trays of cookies.

“The sugar cookies,” you say mournfully, reaching out towards Mama, who’s carrying the empty trays towards the sink.

Oh, god, it’s _your_ dish day today. You’re going to have a fit.

. . . Later.

“We should probably go home now,” Kyoko says. “My mom wanted me back around four, and it’s half past three. I need to pick something up for dinner, too, since she’s not cooking today.”

“Oh! Yeah, I gotta go too,” Haru says. “I’m spending the night at Kyoko-chan’s house.”

“Wanna take some cookies home?” you ask on behalf of Mama. It’s what she’d want. “There’s only the chocolate chip ones left, but like, feel free, okay?”

“Thanks,” Kyoko says, smiling at you in that way that makes you feel like you’re about to be completely eviscerated by the force of her joy. How the _fuck_ does she do it? “I’ll go get some, then. Haru-chan, can you get our bags?”

“Sure!” Haru says, jumping up from the couch. “We didn’t bring anything over except for the presents, right?”

“Mmmm, nope!” Kyoko confirms. “Just our phones, but I have yours in my pocket.”

Before you know it, Kyoko and Haru are out the door, laughing to each other as they make their way down the street.

You watch them from the window, excitement from the day wearing away into something like jealousy. You and Tsuna are friends, sure, and arguably he’s your best friend. But more than that, he’s your _brother._ You wonder what it would have been like to grow up with someone like that.

“Hey, Takahisa.”

“Yeah, Hayato?” you ask, turning your back on the window.

What’s in the past is in the past, you guess. You have friends _now,_ and that’s what counts.

“You know that game Miura-san and Sasagawa-san gave you?”

“Monster Hunter?”

“That one. Could I, uh . . . ” Hayato frowns, crosses his arms. You wait for him to untangle his thoughts. “Is it okay if I watch you play? I mean—you don’t have to—it’s your game and all.”

“Of course it’s okay!” you say. “Like, dude. If you wanted, it’d be fine for you to play, too. I’m sure there’s more than one save file. Monhun is the _best_ game in existence—I would do anything to get someone else into it. Also, it’s a shared console. Mama would kill me if I didn’t let anyone else play.”

“Oh,” Hayato says, looking oddly relieved.

“Actually, you wanna go up and start right now? I don’t have to do the dishes until later and I’m dying to see what it’s like,” you offer.

“Wh—yeah! Let’s go!” Hayato says. His expression is happy, but hesitantly so—like he’s not sure if he deserves this.

You pick up Monster Hunter 2 from the living room, and then you and Hayato are nearly sprinting up the stairs in your excitement. You haven’t played Monster Hunter in . . . god, in years. Tsuna makes fun of you for being a fan without having played a single game, and yeah, it’s silly from _his_ perspective, but for you it’s one of the only things that have stayed the same since Before and After Takahisa.

When the two of you get to your room, Tsuna is nowhere to be seen—the same goes for Lambo and Reborn. Maybe they’re out in the back?

Whatever. You have more important things to focus on right now.

Hayato boots up the Playstation while you ransack Tsuna’s bed for blankets. You spread them haphazardly across the floor, throwing down a couple of pillows for good measure, before you pop the disc into the console.

You can already tell you’re going to waste _so much time_ on this.

*

[9:44 P.M.]

**You:** thanks for coming over today. everyone really loved the presents you and miura-san got for them. **You:** especially me lol.

**Sasagawa Kyoko:** (☆ω☆) **Sasagawa Kyoko:** No problem

**You:** tell miura-san i say thanks too. she’s with you right now isn’t she?

**Sasagawa Kyoko:** She is !!! **Sasagawa Kyoko:** and she says… **Sasagawa Kyoko:** ٩(◕‿◕)۶ “Might as well call me Haru-san!”

**You:** uh.,.. really?

**Sasagawa Kyoko:** Yep **Sasagawa Kyoko:** We’re friends now and **Sasagawa Kyoko:** We were both a little jealous that you’re on a first-name basis with Gokudera-kun **Sasagawa Kyoko:** If you’re comfortable with it, feel free to address me as Kyoko-san ヽ(*⌒▽⌒*)ﾉ ( ´ ω ` ) **Sasagawa Kyoko:** It’s a bit awkward lol **Sasagawa Kyoko:** But we’re both used to being called by our given names ^_^ and you seem nice 。.:☆*:･'(*⌒―⌒*)

**You:** thanks. **You:** you can call me takahisa if you want. i don’t really care about honorifics. -san is ok. not -kun or -chan though.

You’ve learned to be a bit unconventional with honorifics usage; off the top of your head, the only person you really address by family name is Takeshi, because that’s what you’d started out doing and you just . . . haven’t stopped.

Tsuna calls him “Takeshi-kun,” though, doesn’t he? You’re pretty sure he does. And damn good for him, too—you don’t think he’d ever admit it, but you’re pretty sure he takes a little pride in being closer to Takeshi than you are. He deserves to. You know as much as anyone how exhausting it can be to constantly share everything, including friends.

You smile to yourself, rolling over in bed and turning your phone off (completely neglecting to charge it, but that’s a problem for future you).


	12. i fucking forgot to [ANNOUNCEMENT]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rewriting this fic. posted the first chapter like a month ago. subsequently forgot to update with a notice. cirrus stupid.

it's the second fic in this series. title is the same, everything else is mostly the same but it's Newer and Shinier and Better. and most important of all: i'm happier with it, with what i'm planning for it than i was before.

i'm reworking some things from the ground up, notably stuff like:

  * expanding on my characterization of gokudera & bianchi & more heavily featuring my headcanons about their past and family
  * NOT FORGETTING I-PIN THIS TIME
  * gutting my flame lore and working it from the ground up
  * heavily adjusting the plot for this fic to make it go EVEN **SLOWER** in order to dawdle in the daily life arc for however long i feel like
  * takahisa and tsuna bully each other more
  * featuring yamamoto more heavily
  * emphasizing tsuna's relationships with people too
  * and
  * a whole lot more that i can't think of rn



for those of you who liked this and wanted to see where it was going, i'm sorry!! it will take a while to catch up to where i was with the original (this), but hopefully by the time i'm there, the story will have been way better than it currently is. i'm keeping this up because i'm attached to it and i don't want to erase the hard work i've put into it.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [takeshiyamamoto](https://takeshiyamamoto.tumblr.com)  
> i love talking 2 ppl........ feel free 2 interact with me..........


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